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the-auguer · 4 months

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The Forbidden Book of… Uh, Forbiddeness

Normal forbidden book mishaps lead to Mammon getting hallucination whammied into his ultimate dream world.

cw: suggestive

Dull, throbbing pain laced up Mammon’s leg, his body jerking back in an attempt to counterbalance its precarious tip forward.

“What the hell, Satan!” Mammon barks, kicking vengefully at the book stack that had violated him so carelessly. It toppled so very satisfyingly. Stupid Satan and his stupid room with his stupid book stacks that are just lying around, waiting to be tripped over.

“Do not,” Satan intones in that dangerous way he’s perfected over the centuries, “kick my books.”

Mammon scowls back at him. Wrathful or not, Mammon is the second born, Mammon is the big brother, and Mammon is the one helping Satan out of the kindness of his heart.

You stumble over your own deadly pile of books, kicking a few over as you reorient yourself. You crouch to stack them, glancing over your shoulder sheepishly. “My bad, Satan.”

Okay, so maybe it’s not exactly out of the kindness of Mammon’s heart that he’s here. But he couldn’t just leave you alone in the damn snake’s den!

Satan grunts, waving his hand at you. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Hey! Why do they get a pass and I don’t?” Mammon yells across Satan’s room. “Here I am, helpin’ you like you asked—”

“You’re only helping because they are,” Satan cuts Mammon off, dry and slightly amused. Like the bastard knows something Mammon doesn’t. Ugh.

Mammon’s mouth gapes open in offense. “What! You don’t know a damn thing, you… you…!”

“‘You’ what?” Satan asks, creeping closer to Mammon.

Mammon rears up, ready, but you call out from the distant side of the room.

“Do you think it’ll be in this section?”

Satan’s leer melts right off, turning contemplative. “That depends. Are you in the history or the practical leather work section?”

“Uhhh, neither?” You duck further into the dusty shelves from your crouch. “This looks like… demonic industrial psychology?”

Satan snaps his fingers and begins to walk over. “Yes, actually, it should be a shelf over from there.”

“Okay.” You lift yourself up off the floor, brushing the dust out of your hair. “Ick. Will it be to the right or left?”

Satan’s confident stride to the shelf falters.

Mammon cackles. “Lookit you! You don’t even know where it is.”

Satan’s brows draw back down his face immediately.

“It would be a lot easier to find anything if someone hadn’t wrecked my room like a moron!”

“I dunno why you’re yellin’ at me!” Mammon shouts back. “I didn’t do anythin’!”

“You ate Beel’s sandwich.” Satan says. “Again.”

“I dunno why you’re bringing that back up,” Mammon sulks. “It’s not my fault he went on a rampage over a stupid sandwich. Besides, that happened months ago.”

“It’s been two weeks and my room is still a mess.”

“I don’t see any difference.”

“Why you—“

Satan steps towards Mammon.

“Satan,” you call. “Still needing those directions.”

You’ve leaned yourself against a wall, like you don’t really care about all the shouting Mammon and Satan are doing. Hell, maybe you really don’t. Mammon knows that he himself does a lot of the shouting. Maybe you’re used to it.

Maybe you like it.

“Ah,” Satan says. “Yes.”

He stares at the wall, considering.

“Maybe to the right?” He does not sound sure.

You laugh. Just a little. Mammon finds himself leaning towards you, even though you’re ten feet away.

“I’ll take left and you take right?” You suggest to Satan.

Mammon nods. “I’ll go left with ya!”

Satan sighs. “Sure.”

Mammon bounds over to stand next to you. You quirk a smile at him. A nice, small one. Like there’s still a bit of a laugh caught in your mouth. Mammon wants… he wants…

“I’ll look low if you’ll look high.”

Mammon startles, but recovers just as quickly. “Leave it to the Great Mammon!”

He cranes his neck, squinting at the ceiling height shelves that make up Satan’s walls, only just able to read the titles embossed on the spines of the books.

“Hey,” Mammon says, “what’re we looking for again?”

That half of a laugh falls from your mouth again. “Only you, Mammon, I swear.”

“There is only one Mammon,” Mammon says seriously. It makes you huff again.

“We’re looking for Satan’s cursed cookbook.”

“Oh yeah! Hey, Satan, what’re you making for dinner?”

“Nothing if I can’t find my cookbook,” Satan says tersely.

“Eh? Just use your D.D.D. for recipes like everyone else.”

“No.” Satan replies, rifling through a mid-level shelf.

“Why?”

“Because it’s not right. My Cursed Demon Cuisine Cookbook has every recipe a demon could need, and it already has my adjustments written in it. It’s irreplaceable. I will never cook without it.”

“Yeesh, alright.”

Mammon squints at the shelves again. Something something Demonic Animal Acupuncture , some fancy cursive that Mammon doesn’t care to make horns or tails of, Forbidden Fruits of the Demonic Realm , something something Skewering Techniques , something Demon Cuisine something, some book without a title, Practical Woodwork in Relation to Leather Work , and Demonic Tree Species and their Habitats .

Damn, Satan really had a line up of bores in his room. Nothing interesting, like mechanic books or something. How to Win Big Fast , that’s Mammon’s kind of book.

Nothing like… hmm.

“What’d you say the book title was?”

Satan snorts dismissively. His search has been completely halted, as he has immersed himself into hunching over a different book.

You glance up, raking your hair out of your face with your hand as you do so. You need a haircut, something Asmo has been bemoaning all week. Mammon’s mouth is dry.

“ Cursed Demon Cuisine Cookbook , I think.”

Mammon whips his head up. “I think I found it.”

You draw yourself up from the floor. “Really? Where?”

Mammon points. “Fourth shelf down, kinda on the right.”

You hum, eyes nearly in slits from how hard you’re having to squint to see that far. Your nose is scrunched. Your brows too. You’re really… you look so… Mammon wants to poke your nose.

“Oh, I think that is it!”

Mammon’s chest puffs.

“What’d I tell ya? Leave it to the Great Mammon, the best of the best.”

You pat his chest. “You did great Mammon.”

Cheeks suddenly hot, Mammon looks back up the shelf. “O-of cou-course. Let me… I’ll get it down!”

“How?” You ask. “It’s pretty high up there.”

“Oh, sad little human. I can get that book down with my eyes closed.” Mammon replies, shaking out his hands and then his legs. “Never underestimate Mammon!”

“Right… and you’re going to…”

Mammon jumps, his eyes truly closed.

“Mammon!”

Laughing, Mammon stretches out his hand. At the peak of his jump, he brushes against the spine of a book. He snatches it, certain he’s correctly judged how high he’d needed to jump.

As gravity begins to pull at his body, Mammon grins. You’ll be so impressed with him, once he lands. He’ll be perfectly balanced, practically bouncing on his toes, with the book in his hands in one fell swoop. You’ll tell him how great he is. How powerful and cool. And you’ll… You’ll.

You’ll what?

Mammon hits the ground, his knees stock straight and unprepared. He stumbles, arms pinwheeling, before finally regaining his balance. That was close.

He holds the book over his head. “A-HA! Victory is Mammon’s!”

Satan has finally pulled his nose out of his book and made his way to stand next to you. Mammon lowers the book to show it to him.

Satan sighs. “Mammon, that’s not my cookbook.”

“Whaddaya mean it’s not your cookbook? We saw it for sure—” Mammon glances down. “Damn it!”

It was the stupid no title book that was right next to the cookbook. Mammon had been so close. His jump was perfect, even if his landing wasn’t. If he had only been a little to the left he would have gotten the right book!

“Don’t worry Mammon,” you say. “You still found it. All we have to do is get it down.”

Mammon grumbles. “Stupid no-title book.”

“Did you say no title?” Satan’s voice is sharp.

“Yeah,” Mammon replies. What’s all the fuss about leather bound, unmarked books anyway? Mammon has a few paperbacks in his room, and they don’t look nearly as namby-pamby as this stupid thing. Mammon cracks the book open.

“Mammon,” Satan warns. “Do not open that.”

Oh-ho? Is it Satan’s diary? Mammon bets it is. Well, it’s not like Satan should have anything too embarrassing in here. It’s probably all just ranting about how much he hates Lucifer. It wouldn’t hurt if Mammon had a little peek.

Maybe he can tell you about it later. If it’s funny, of course. You might not laugh, though. Oh well.

Mammon pulls it the rest of the way open.

“Mammon!”

The only thing Mammon really remembered with any clarity was how strange it felt to have his knees buckle underneath him.

“Mammon!” His face isn’t pale, or even really stricken with pain, but your hands hesitate over him all the same. What if you make whatever this is worse? What if you hurt him?

Satan sighs. “Idiot. I told him not to open that book.”

You turn to Satan. He seems twice as tall from where you kneel next to Mammon, but you’re not phased.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He opened the Forbidden Book of…” Satan delicately flips the fallen book closed with his shoe. It has no title, just a symbol you can’t decipher. “The Forbidden Book of Dreams.”

Your brows furrow in confusion. “Aren’t your forbidden book titles usually a little more on the nose than that?”

Satan shivered, likely reminded of the body-switching debacle. “Yes, you are right. However, I have acquired some forbidden books that follow different rules. I never really got around to experimenting with this one. Maybe it activated because—”

“Stop,” you say. “We can talk about that later. Right now…”

Mammon looks strange, lying limp on the floor. Even in sleep, he should be restless. Muttering and rolling and kicking. Instead his only movement is the rise and fall of his chest.

You feel wretched just looking at him.

“We need to get him somewhere more comfortable.”

Mammon blinks out of his haze, rather confused. It’s not often he can’t remember when he walked into a casino.

This casino seems different, too. At least, Mammon hasn’t been in it before. The walls are covered in a golden sheen, with high arcing ceilings where gleaming demonic crystal chandlers hang. The carpet is a warm, lush red, with dozens of gambling tables full of patrons scatter across the room. The dealer at his table is one of those four armed demons that Mammon loves and hates. Loves because of how quick the next hand is shuffled passed out. Hates because the extra hands make it much harder to identify the cards Mammon’s opponents receive. Glancing down at his hand of cards, Mammon conceals a devilish grin. Poker. Mammon is awesome at poker. And his cards… his cards are good. Really good.

And he has a lot of chips. Mammon’s neck cranes with how much his head has to tip in order to see the end of his chips.

Mammon hasn’t had good prospects like this is a while. Ever since that whole thing with the witches and Lucifer cutting him off, Mammon hasn’t had enough money to bet to win big like this. He can feel his mouth watering.

“Hey, Mammon? Where are you looking?”

The chips, as numerous and shiny as they are, quickly loose all meaning to Mammon.

It’s you. Sitting in the chair next to him. You’re glittering, draped in all sorts of gold accessories and jewels. If Mammon dips his eyes, he can see a discarded pile of tributes at your feet. Defective. Not nearly pretty enough to grace your body.

You’re wearing yellow. It’s not a color Mammon usually sees you in. It’s lovely. You look… you look so…

A hand feathers through Mammon’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. It makes Mammon shiver all the way down to his toes.

“Much better.” Your smile brings heat to Mammon’s chest. “I like it when you look at me like that.”

“Li-like what, st-stupid human?” Mammon splutters.

The hand in his hair tugs. Not enough to hurt but just enough to reprimand.

“I don’t like being called that.” You’re… you’re frowning at him. A little bit. Mammon’s mouth is dry.

“S-sor-sorry.” Mammon replies lamely, his tongue sluggish in his mouth.

“Hmm,” you release his head and Mammon does his best to not chase after your hand. “Good enough, I guess. Your turn, then.”

Mammon turns to the table. His opponents’ piles of chips look pitiful next to his own. They watch him apprehensively.

You’re watching him too, a half smile lazily curling about your face. “Go on. Win me a bracelet this time.” You show your wrists, both already heavy with bangles of all sorts, of diamond and gold and ruby. Your left wrist looks a bit more full than your right. Mammon finds his mouth is no longer dry anymore. He has a little too much saliva, now. “I don’t want an uneven amount. I’m sure the Great Mammon, Avatar of Greed, can fix that for me.”

“Yea-yeah! You bet!”

Mammon turns his head back to the table. The demon in green is looking pretty poor on chips and he has a very, very nice gold watch on his arm. Unbidden, a smirk crawls up Mammon’s cheeks.

You huff out a quiet laugh.

“I’m all in!”

There seems to be an unbearable pain in Lucifer’s head, what with how hard he’s pinching the bridge of his nose. You feel a bit embarrassed, because, yes, Lucifer only left the house for a few hours and there’s another crisis. Satan, Belphegor, and you stand in a semi-circle around Mammon’s bed.

“Belphie, what does he look like?” Lucifer rasps, only just holding onto his sanity.

Belphegor leans over Mammon, a discerning look in his eyes. He sighs.

“He’s in there. Just dreaming.”

All of the air that was stuck in your lungs releases. Breathing is so much easier now.

“Can you get him out,” you ask. Your hands flex, aching to clamp around Mammon’s hand. His hands are always warm, though. You’re a little afraid that they’ll be cold.

Belphegor see-saws his hand. “Yes and no. I can go in and try, but the Forbidden Book will have its own conditions for Mammon to wake up.”

You turn to Satan, who is very carefully leafing through the book with oven mitts on.

Satan grunts, turning a page. “Still looking. I found the activation requirements, though. It says in this passage that for the curse to work, a demon must be a ‘warrior at heart’ and ‘dreaming of something dear to their heart’ so that the dream world can be constructed accordingly.”

In your mind’s eye, you see Mammon’s wide grin as he opens the book.

”A warrior?” Belphie scoffs. “Mammon hasn’t done anything special in centuries.”

Lucifer makes a skeptical noise. “Inaction does not invalidate the claim to the title. Mammon… has always been one of a kind.”

“That’s true enough, I suppose. What do you mean ‘constructed’?” Belphegor asks, one hand placed carefully on Mammon’s forehead.

“Just that,” Satan replies. “It takes the dreams of the demon and makes a world that they’ll never want to leave. Quite fascinating, really. This was crafted to be a trial for warriors, to test if they would truly be able to turn from their inherent sin and serve their greater demon lord. When I saw it up for auction on Akuzon, I had to have it. Shame about the situation, though.”

Satan did not sound too disappointed.

“You mean he can wake up on his own?” Lucifer says.

Satan shrugs. “I still haven’t found the actual chapter for it, but in theory, yes. He just has to have the willpower to turn away from his own sin.”

An uneasy feeling roils in your stomach. Turning away from your sin might be hard for regular, low-level demons, but an Avatar of Sin like Mammon…

The others seem to feel similarly.

Lucifer turns to Belphegor. “How likely is it that you can get him out, Belphie?”

“Pretty likely.” Belphegor replies, hand smoothing over Mammon’s cheek to his pulse. “Sleep is in my domain, so dreams also fall in by association, and I’m not sensing any kind of power that would overrule my own. The thing is, I don’t know if the curse will retaliate if I interfere. Could be that Mammon can never go a night without a nightmare or something equally awful. That sort of thing would take a lot of time to reverse.”

“Wouldn’t there be a failsafe if it was a warriors’ trial?” You ask.

Satan shakes his head. “This particular demon tribe did not believe in failsafes. If you didn’t have the discipline to resurface on your own, you didn’t resurface at all.”

“Will he die? If he doesn’t resurface?”

“No,” Lucifer assures, his voice firm in a way that gives you a little bit of relief. “Mammon is an Avatar, so he won’t die. Besides, Belphie will get him out, if he can’t on his own. We’ll deal with whatever comes after.”

“How long will we wait, then?”

Lucifer looks to Belphegor.

Belphegor yawns, likely exhausted by the serious atmosphere. “Two days or so, maybe?”

“The longest recorded coma was seven months, sixteen days, and eleven hours.” Satan pipes up.

“A week, then.” Belphie amends.

Lucifer nods. “In the meantime, I expect everyone to attend their classes as they usually would. I will talk to Diavolo.”

You nod, your eyes fixed on Mammon.

Hopefully it won’t take more than a week.

“ALL RIGHT! EVERYONE BOW DOWN TO THE GREAT MAMMON!”

All demons of all sins could only oblige, as Mammon had taken every valuable on the table. And a few off of it, too.

You laugh. It’s not that soft breath but an honest guffaw that has you shaking in your seat. You’re dripping in luxury, your ornaments doubled in number and rarity, a bigger heap of offerings at your slippered feet. It’s still not enough. Mammon wants… Mammon wants to see you in a crown. Maybe a crown of ruby, to compliment the yellow you’re wearing. Maybe one of emeralds. A mighty, tall crown worth more than the entire casino they sit in.

Fingers whisper under Mammon’s chin as you tip his head towards you. So many necklaces of different kinds dangle from your neck, but not a choker. Mammon wonders why. He likes the look of them, how they emphasize the muscles or the graceful column or the lovely plump of a demon’s neck.

You smile like you know what he’s thinking. “I saved something for you.”

It’s leather or something like it, which isn’t strange for the demon world. It has a huge sapphire embedded in gold hanging from the middle. You turn his chair to face yours, your knees touching his, and fasten it around his throat. It’s tight, tight enough that he feels it constrict slightly as he swallows.

“There we are. It looks better on you, anyway.”

“Of co-course it do-does. Everythin’ looks better on me.”

“Careful.” You say. You take hold of his chin again. Mammon’s world narrows down to your fingers and your eyes. “I might get upset if you keep being mean to me.”

The world is dizzy. Was he… was he really being mean? He always talks to you a bit like that, but he never thought that you would… that he would upset you.

Your brows ease from their furrow. “Don’t worry, Mammon. You didn’t upset me. I was playing.”

Your fingers begin to withdraw. Mammon clutches your wrist.

“Don’t stop.” Mammon nearly whines. “I didn’t say ya should stop.”

You smile at him. Mammon feels the choker against his throat as he swallows.

“I won’t, Mammon, don’t worry.” You lean in, the hand Mammon’s holding moving to cup his jaw and the other going to the poker table behind him. Every demon’s eyes are on you. On your wealth, on your magnificence, on your daring. On your lips, skimming across Mammon’s cheek to his earlobe.

The the back of the chair that Mammon sits in is the only thing keeping him upright. He feels like he’s trembling apart at the seams, lightheaded with how close you are.

“Hey,” you whisper to him, your lips brushing his ear. Mammon is about to morph into his demon form, if only to loose some of the excess heat that is blazing across every inch of his skin.

“Yeah?” Mammon rasps back.

You stand between his splayed open legs, so close you’re practically in his lap. You lean away from his ear, both a relief and a loss. He feels set aflame by your very breath.

“Let’s go play something else.”

Mammon glances over. Other demons are beginning to crowd the table, raring to play a game of poker, but wary of the Avatar of Greed and his winning streak.

“What should we play?” Mammon asks. He knows a bit of what he wants, but you could want something else. And if it makes you keep smiling at him like that…

“Anything,” you murmur. “As long as you take everything they’ve got. I want to walk out tripping over money.”

Shit. Shit.

Mammon feels heat suffuse his body with vengeance. His head lolls back to rest at the top of his chair.

You huff— Mammon can feel your breath ghost along his cheek— and run a finger down Mammon’s throat, gliding across the choker and ending at his collar bone.

Mammon’s back quivers, curling up off of the plush cushion of his seat. His breath is leaving him fast, and he can barely inhale enough to keep up with the demand for oxygen.

You straighten, the heat of your body retreating with you, leaving Mammon all but limp in his chair.

The ceiling is nice. Has Mammon mentioned how nice the ceiling is? Very high, very pretty. Gold and red, just like everything else in the casino.

“Where are we going, Mammon?”

Mammon exhales. You want everything off of every demon. All of it. Mammon wants to give it to you. Wants to so very bad.

He stands. “Let’s go play some craps.”

Asmodeus drapes his torso dramatically over the table.

“It’s not fair. Why does Mammon get to sleep through school with his deepest desires?”

“Careful,” you mutter ruefully, picking at your breakfast. You can’t really help how bitter your voice is. Someone has brought up this same topic at every meal. “You sound like Levi right now.”

“It’s true,” Levi bemoans, crossing his arms, “why does he get to live out his ultimate dream and I don’t? Mammon is probably wasting this opportunity on counting Grimm when I could be saving the world with my precious Ruri-chan! Shaking hands with Henry! Playing a real life RPG! How could Lucifer lock away my golden ticket to paradise? I would give anything, even my limited edition Double Bubble Ruri-chan: Disco Era Funtime doll!”

You put down your fork, frustration killing your appetite. You haven’t talked to Mammon in two days. By the time school is over, it’ll be three days. He’ll be in the same realm, in the same house even, and you still won’t be able to talk to him. It makes you nauseous.

You don’t blame the others. To them, this is a temporary situation that Mammon will awaken from anyway, so why not be jealous of it? But to you…

You miss Mammon. That’s all there is to it.

Beel stares at your plate. You push it towards him. He drools over it, but turns away.

“You should eat more,” Beel grits out with difficulty. “Eating is good for you.”

You reach down for the backpack at your feet. “Don’t worry, Beel. I’m not hungry, so I’m going to start heading to RAD.”

Beel does not wait for a second confirmation. He digs into your plate dutifully. He’s been eating a bit more than usual, you think. He’s probably anxious. You make sure to pat him on the shoulder on your way out.

As you walk out the door, you hear Asmodeus’s voice, loud in his laughter.

“Counting Grimm, Levi? Oh please. Mammon is probably in some casino with them blowing on his dice for luck. Maybe blowing something else, too, the lucky bastard.”

Hot breath fans gently over Mammon’s knuckles, and Mammon feels his cheeks heat at your dipped head. You rise, and Mammon rolls his dice. Eleven. Just what he needed.

Your arm winds around his shoulders as he cackles and collects his winnings of this round. Mammon is on a winning streak a mile wide, with his opponents in tears.

“You’re lucky,” Mammon announces to you, to the casino, to the world. “I’ll take ya to any casino, anywhere.”

“Really?” You ask, your arm a band around Mammon’s chest.

“Hell yeah, baby! Did ya see me? I won every game!”

You still, and Mammon stills with you.

His face flushes. He considers backpedaling. Calling you a stupid human, saying that you should be grateful he wants to take you anywhere. But… you said it could make you upset.

“Mammon. Mammon, look at me.”

Reluctantly he turns to look at you.

Your cheeks are pink and your smile is kind. You lean your forehead against his.

“I like that,” you tell him tenderly. “Say it again?”

Mammon murmurs something or another that he himself did not hear.

“Please Mammon?” Your hands smooth over his shoulders. “Mammon?”

“Baby,” Mammon whispers, unsure.

He has only a second to doubt himself before your lips drag across his collarbone. Mammon’s hands rise to brush against your waist, uncertain. Then your lips move just a little and bite down and all Mammon can do is hold onto you like a lifeline. He would shout, but something about the way that your teeth felt… it was… weird. Dry and not at all tingly. Maybe Mammon didn’t like biting? But…

“Hey, Mammon?” Your voice is breathy, like you ran a mile.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna get out of here?”

More than anything. “Sure, baby.”

Mammon gets a Little D to cash out all his chips and another to carry the excess wealth to the car. He wasn’t sure if he actually had a car here, but he could improvise. Maybe trade a few hundred thousand Grimm for a real nice car.

But he takes you to the parking lot and there it is. His red convertible, top already down. The one he he’s been wanting to take you on joy rides in. You climb in like it’s no big deal.

Swallowing, Mammon climbs in the drivers’ side.

“Where to?” Mammon asks, unsure himself. If they go back to the House of Lamentation, Lucifer is sure to ream him out about gambling again. Mammon is in too good of a mood for it to be spoiled by Lucifer’s endless nagging.

You tip your head back to rest on the shoulder of the headrest.

“Anywhere. As long as you’re driving.”

Mammon laughs nervously, and puts the car in reverse. Anywhere. Anywhere at all.

Mammon drives to the edge of the sea. On the beach.

You sigh as the beach breeze moves through the car. Then you sit up to look at him.

“Is there anyone around?”

“I, uh,” Mammon swivels his head, searching. Strangely enough, there’s no sign of any other demons on this beach. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Good.”

Mammon’s about to ask what’s good about being alone of a huge beach like two teens in a horror movie when you amble over the center console and sit yourself on his lap. All that can leave Mammon’s mouth is a strangled wheeze.

You sparkle even more in the sunlight. You’re literally blinding.

You tuck your head into Mammon’s neck and he awkwardly touches your waist with his fingertips. There’s a click, and Mammon is falling backwards as his seat reclines, yelping. Your breath puffs against the skin of his throat. Then your lips replace your breath.

Mammon’s body jolts, jostling you from where you lay on top of him. You only laugh and feather another kiss under Mammon’s jaw, then against his cheek.

“Mammon,” you breathe, your eyes bearing into his. Slowly, you inch forward, and all Mammon can do is meet your lips with his.

You let your pencil clatter uselessly against the fine wood of your desk. There would be no more productivity tonight, and you pack up the remainder of your homework. Hopefully you’ll be able to wake up early tomorrow and work on it after breakfast. Maybe curling up with a book will distract you more that homework.

Day four of Mammon’s coma has trickled away, leaving you on the cusp of the fifth day and all the more bitter for it. Satan said that there was no way to reverse the coma using the Forbidden book, and had left it completely at that. Now you either had to wait three more days or hope that Mammon gave up on the pool of Grimm he was probably swimming in at the very moment.

As much as you believe in Mammon, you know that’s not very likely.

You toss your book aside, bored of it within seconds. Much like everything else lately. Walking with Beelzebub or Asmodeus to school is nice, but it would be much nicer if Mammon were there. Eating lunch with Simeon, Luke, and Solomon was relaxing, but it would be so much more exciting if Mammon were there. Gaming with Leviathan and reading with Satan was fun, but you miss Mammon’s ridiculous schemes and raucous laughter.

It’s strange. You always enjoyed all of those things normally when Mammon wasn’t in a coma, but you can’t now that he is.

He’s down the hall from you right now and you miss him more than you did when you returned to the human world for all those months.

Tired, but unlikely to fall asleep anytime soon, you tuck yourself under your bed covers and close your eyes.

There’s nothing.

Mammon’s eyes are wide open. Shocked. Terrified.

There’s no warmth at all from your lips.

There is no fluttery feeling. No giddiness. There’s not even the heat that Mammon was boiling with back at the casino. All of the warmth from then and now seems to have leached right out of him.

You pull back, smile bright.

“Mammon. Mammon.”

Your hips move just a little, and you move back in to kiss him. Mammon flails, rolls you off of him, and fumbles to open the driver’s side door. When it finally opens, Mammon stumbles out, lands flat on his face in the sand, and scrambles to his feet.

You sit up in the car. You’re still deck out in shimmering jewels, and you look just the slightest bit rumpled. And hurt. You look so hurt.

It’s nearly enough to make Mammon trip over himself to climb back in the car, but he can't forget the feeling of your lips on his, or lack thereof.

Maybe he just built it up too much in his own mind? Maybe he did both you and him a disservice by raising you on a pedestal, and the real deal can’t hold a candle to it?

But no. Mammon remembers.

Mammon remembers a late movie night, you asleep with your head on his shoulder. Your head lolled and your nose ended up in the crook of Mammon’s neck. Your breath took up Mammon’s every thought, and your proximity made his heart speed. Most of all, he remembers the touch of your sleeping lips to his skin, and how electrified he felt. Like he could punch straight through Cerberus and a hungry Beelzebub all in one go.

Everything else felt so real, so why did your kiss make Mammon feel so…

Why did it feel so fake?

“Mammon, what’s going on?” You venture, stepping out of the still ajar car door. “Are you okay?”

“Whaddaya mean ‘what’s going on’?” Mammon yells, hurt and terrified and unsure. “What the hell was that?”

“That was—,” you stutter, “I thought that you—”

“No! No, no, no, no.” Mammon grabs fistfuls of his hair. “Don’t look at me like that! Don’t do it.”

You’re teary eyed. Which is ridiculous, because Mammon should be the one crying. Why did it feel that way? Why does he not feel horror at the thought of you crying?

“Something’s wrong.” Mammon says to himself, to the empty beach, to you.

“What’s wrong? Mammon, tell me what it is and we can fix it!”

Mammon whips his head around. It all started with this damn abandoned beach, that feeling of wrongness. No lovely beach this side of Devildom is ever without demons. Or was it the casino? He should go back there. Right now! Only…

Where was the casino again?

Mammon’s head spun. Which way was it? He drove here, so he should be able to go back, right? Since when does Mammon, Avatar of Greed, not know where any casino is?

Never. Mammon has never forgotten where a casino is in his life.

Your hands clutch at his shoulders, desperate. You’re crying, and your hands are trembling.

“Talk to me! What’s going on?”

Mammon’s only gotten that many wins in a row a few times in his long, long life. And there’s no way Lucifer would ever let him bet enough money to play the type of high-stakes game that would result in that much money. He’s never seen that casino before, and doesn’t know where it is. Even if he concentrates, he can’t remember a single face from that casino.

Which means that there’s no way that that was a casino. Which means the casino wasn’t real.

“Mammon, you’re scaring me.”

Mammon looks down at you. You’re in yellow, his favorite color. You were in that fake casino with him, despite him never taking you to any demon casino anywhere in Devildom. You climbed right into the car he’s never shown you anywhere but his dreams.

Dreams.

Mammon takes in how hazy the horizon is. He spent several hours in that casino but the sun hasn’t budged from its half-mast in the sky, just before sunset. His favorite time of day. But there’s no day in the Devildom. And this isn’t one of Prince Diavolo’s special beaches.

“You’re not real,” he whispers.

“What are you talking about, of course I’m real,” you cry, gripping his shoulders harder.

“No,” Mammon says, “all of this isn’t real.”

He shoves fake-you away, skin burning with home close to him they were. How close he let them be. With one absent-minded hand, he rips off the leather choker and tosses it away carelessly.

How was he supposed to get out of here? Was there some sort of spell? Was he supposed to fly out?

“It could be real,” fake-you says from the sand. They sit up, face contorted into a beatific smile. “You could stay here, forever. You could win every day. All the wealth you could ever imagine, gifted to you.” Mountains of gold pile up, tumbling over themselves as they stack high, high, high. “Nothing to slow you down. And then at night, you can take me home.” Fake-you rises and steps forward. Mammon retreats further away. “Think of all the fun we could have. You could do anything.”

Fake-you reclines in a pile, sliding a hand down their body, and it takes everything Mammon has not to throw up.

The Grimm, skulls emblazoned and golden, are tempting. Mammon wants money, wants so much money that he’ll drown in it. But that… that isn’t real money, is it? What the fuck is Mammon supposed to buy with fake money?

“No! I don’t want fake money! I want real money!” Mammon kicks down a pile, feeling his fangs prickle his lower lip. What was the use of money that Mammon could never have in real life? What was the use of time spent with you when you weren’t really here? “I don’t want fake-you! I want the real you!”

“Why?” Fake-you asks, cupping a handful of gold and letting it pour from their hand. It makes musical clanks as it hits the rest of the coins and slides down the pile. “It’s as real as you believe it is, and so am I.” Fake-you grins. “Come on, Mammon. It’s not like you’ll ever get this chance anywhere else.”

Reeling with hurt and outrage, Mammon lets his demon form rise to the surface, feeling his power distort the very air.

“I. Want. Out.”

The beach and fake-you are ripped to shreds by his claws.

Belphegor crashed into the dinning room, looking more disheveled than usual.

“Mammon’s waking up!”

Despite your human nature, you’re the fastest to react. You stumble to Mammon’s room, where he’s thrashing so violently you balk at the door. The blankets twist around him where his claws haven’t shredded them, and he’s growling.

“What’s wrong with him?” Lucifer demands, pushing past his curious brothers, dragging Belphegor with him.

Belphegor shrugs. “He’s waking up, but he’s forcing it. The Book’s fighting him.”

“Can you help him?” You ask.

“I could,” Belphegor says, “but he doesn’t need it. Look.”

You turn back in enough time to see Mammon’s eyes fly right open, snarling in rage. Rising, he claws off the remaining blankets, and moves towards the crowed at the door, horns out and wings flared.

“Mammon,” you say, excited, shouldering past Lucifer. He doesn’t break his stride in his path to you, and when you reach out to hug him, he snatches you close to him.

“You woke up,” you exclaim, squeezing him. “I thought I wouldn’t see you for two days! I took school notes, you can use them if you want.”

Mammon tilts up your head, the claws that tore up fabric in seconds gentle. “Mind if I check that this is real?”

“Yeah?” You reply. “How are you—”

He kisses you. Right there, in front of all six of his brothers. It’s soft, barely a brush of his lips on yours for a chaste second, but your heart nearly bursts in your chest with free fall sensation. Your head swims a little, and the words of the demons behind you fly right over your head.

“Yeah,” Mammon sighs, stroking your cheek with his thumb, dopey smile growing on his face. “This is real all right.”

You have a million questions. How does your kiss make everything real? What was Mammon dreaming about? Did he miss you, too?

As you open your mouth to ask any of these questions, Mammon collapses on you in a dead faint, taking you to the ground with him.

Winded, you stare at the minuscule amount of ceiling that you can see through stark white hair.

“Oh,” Satan says calmly. “The book did say to expect some disorientation upon awakening.”

#obey me mammon #mammon x mc #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me satan #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me lucifer

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allwaswell16 · 11 months

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A fic rec of One Direction fics where a character has an unusual pet as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fic, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

—Louis/Harry—

🐒 Ace of Spades by @allwaswell16

(E, 80k, monkey) Living as a sheltered omega in a farming village has not prepared Harry for life aboard the most notorious pirate ship to sail the Atlantic.

🦜 A Certain Romance by DragMeDownFuckMeUp

(E, 53k, parrot) the one where Harry and Louis meet on tinder and things are going swimmingly until they realise that their daughters know each other... not only do they know each other, they may or may not be trying to date each other!

🦔 our friendship will never die, you're gonna see it's our destiny by yoobanana

(NR, 43k, hedgehog, monkey, turtle) The adventures of Louis and his hedgehog Bernard and how they inevitably lead to Louis meeting Harry and then even more so inevitably of them moving in together, adopting loads of animals, and then getting married. (Harry and Louis, not Louis and Bernard)

🐿️ But Why Wonder, Why Wonder? by @100percentsassy

(E, 30k, squirrels) The one where Marcel Styles has improbably landed a job in the fashion industry, and Louis Tomlinson is the actor-turned-lingerie-designer he’s been infatuated with for years.

🐹 Lost My Senses by louislittlesuns

(NR, 20k, chinchilla) Your classic university best friends to lovers story but with an unhinged Niall, the fluffiest chinchilla named Peach and far too many descriptions of Louis' mesmerising eyes.

🐮 What To Do With Magic Beans by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 22k, cow) a Jack and the Beanstalk AU featuring Harry as Jack, Louis as a prince, Zayn as a nanny, Liam as the reasonable one, and Niall as whatever the fuck he’s doing.

🦎 I Didn’t Fall For You (You Fucking Tripped Me) by @allwaswell16

(E, 20k, monitor lizard) These days Louis tends to steer clear of dating alphas. He’s dated too many knotheads in his time, and he’s ready to just focus on school and his friends and his pet monitor lizard, of course.

🦎 Apparently by Chance, at Precisely the Right Moment by @lousmoonshine

(E, 19k, bearded dragon) Alpha Harry doesn’t believe in soulmates. Omega Louis has been looking for his soulmate all his life.

🦜 That’s How I Know by @allwaswell16

(E, 19k, parrot) the one where Harry’s African grey parrot spills his dirty secrets to his very hot neighbor.

🐐Maple by tobesokaylee

(T, 5k, cow, goat, pig, snake, hedgehog) Louis is crazy about animals, so Harry is determined to get him all the pets he wants even if they are unconventional

🕷️ Lonely Boy by RBBLivvy

(T, 4k, spider/snake/crab/lizard/gecko/squirrel) He really wishes his resident Harry wasn't so cute, because that's a no-go, but he also wishes Harry would stop trying to keep hermit crabs and lava lamps and every other code violation in the world in his room.

🦜 Ours is Organized Chaos by ILoveLouis4Ever

(G, 3k, bearded dragon, parrot) upon stepping into their lush estate one is immediately assaulted by children with nerf guns seven dogs of varying sizes and energy levels a parrot with no manners

🐀 a complainy popstar by snsk

(G, 2k, rat) Harry wants a baby. He settles for a pet rat. Louis sort of hates the pet rat very much a lot.

🦆 summertime and butterflies by dadlouis

(T, 2k, duck) Louis and Harry go in for a pet and get something a bit different

—Rare Pairs—

🐒 Hi, Hey There, Hello by orphan_account

(T, 14k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw, monkey) Louis can talk to animals. Nick can't, but he tries anyway. Louis likes that in a guy.

🐀 Creature Fear by @dearmrsawyer

(G, 8k, Niall/Harry, opossum) Louis is an Opossum, and he's moved into the walls.

🦎 I Pray to God I Didn’t Waste All My Good Years (It Was Always You) by versacezayn

(M, 5k, Zayn/Liam, lizard) It’s been four years since Zayn left the band.

#ficrec #1dsource #trackinghappily #1dficvillage #tracksintheam #trackinghome #hltracks

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waywardrose · 5 months

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THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 25

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

5.3k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs

fem/witch/goth!reader, sweetheart!eddie, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, chasing, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, blood, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, running away, guns, fist fighting, everyone survives, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird? Weird weird? He shrugged. He liked weird. In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: We're in the endgame now! There'll probably be one or two more chapters and an epilogue after this. 🖤 I'll compile and post a masterlist for this fic soon, too!

Your heels pounded on the pavement. The pressure patch bounced against your chest. Bitter wind dried your eyes. Ash swirled in the air, creating incomprehensible patterns. It contrasted the dark wall of smoke curtaining the street ahead. You skidded to a stop.

Why were you running towards a fissure? What the hell were you thinking?

You looked over your shoulder. Eddie stepped onto the street, shirt streaked with blood. You couldn’t run in his direction. He was too fast. He’d catch you, take you to Vecna.

Shit, you’d nearly done that yourself.

A roar like a tornado boomed in front of you.

You turned to the fissure. A massive arachnoid shape moved inside the smoke. You stepped back. The blacktop surrounding the fissure cracked further, making you retreat. Vines you’d only seen through the tumbler or in visions snaked into the air.

You couldn’t fight a thing made of smoke. You couldn’t beat back the vines.

Chittering and howls echoed from the fissure, reminding you of a wolf pack. Demodogs, according to Dustin. You’d heard them months ago. The primitive part of your brain had known then they were predators.

There was nowhere to hide. Eddie had already seen you, anyway. However, you couldn’t give up.

With a scan of the street, the only practical option was an alley on your left. You raced into it. Dumpsters, blocky AC units, and dented trashcans blurred as you ran.

A wood pallet soared on your right. It hit the brick wall and exploded into shrapnel.

You shielded your face in your elbow. A board smacked your side. Pain bloomed, muscles cramped. You twisted and gasped, stumbling over shattered pieces of wood.

Eddie stood yards away. From the street, the chittering increased in volume. Your shoulder knocked into a parked box-truck. He stepped forward, relentless and silent. You cursed as you bounced into the wall.

You had to keep moving, had to keep him away from Max.

You jogged into the narrow gap between truck and wall. It was a clear shot to the next street. Unfortunately, the fissure crossed the alley on the other side. Vines slithered up the broken buildings.

To your left, police barricades spanned the street. You couldn’t go right because that would lead you to the nexus. You ran left and realized you were drawing closer to the hospital. At the next intersection, you went left again.

Humvees, camo-painted trucks, and police cruisers rolled away. Plumes of ash spun in their wake. You ran onto the street and yelled for them to stop, but an attack helicopter whooshed overhead. It charged towards the nexus. You had to get out of here. The helicopter launched one of its missiles. A great, monstrous shriek answered. You covered your ears at the cacophony. The ground shook, and you bent your knees to keep your balance. A second later, the report from a blast rattled windows.

You looked back. Eddie steadied himself on the side of a parked car less than twenty feet away. With eyes on you, he pushed off.

You murmured, “Come and get me, baby,” before sprinting down the street.

You passed the police and fire stations, squinting against the falling ash. While you could seek shelter in either place, you didn’t know what Eddie would do to those who got in his way. And you didn’t want to think of what they’d do to Eddie if they saw him.

You needed him to pursue you — and only you.

The nearest fissure cutting through the street stopped you short. Vines zigzagged over the ground. Another monstrous shriek bellowed, and it reverberated in your heaving chest. A neighborhood of older homes sat across the way. You ran between two houses, certain no one was inside — not with how close the houses stood to the fissure.

You hid behind a large oak in the backyard and leaned on the trunk. In the distance, demodogs chittered and gunfire resounded. The hit to your side made itself known as you panted for air. You pressed your palm over it. Muscles spasmed. With a grimace, you repeated the healing spell under your breath. Heat sparked under your skin. Sweat prickled above your lip and at your hairline.

It took a small eternity for the heat to dissipate. You lifted your shoulder to stretch it out. The muscles complained, but it wasn’t a stitch in your side. That was good enough.

Glancing around, it was difficult to find your bearings. You weren’t sure it mattered where you were. Your primary concern was keeping Eddie occupied until you figured out what to do.

A twig snapped.

You whipped to the side to peek around the trunk. Nothing was out of place. No sign of Eddie, either.

Shit.

Had he given up?

No, making the hunted think they were safe was a horror-movie cliché.

You weren’t safe.

You turned to face the other backyards. Still no sign of Eddie. He was hiding and watching. You felt it. He would lose patience soon enough, though.

Instead of running, like your hind brain wanted you to, you walked away from the oak. He wasn’t going to kill you. Vecna didn’t want you dead yet. You marched farther into the neighborhood, navigating fences and darting between houses.

A wooded area bordered the neighborhood. That was a prime place to play hide-and-seek with your undead, psycho-controlled puppet of a boyfriend. Jesus Christ, what was your life? You paused on the curb at the end of a cul-de-sac. The woods lay beyond the arc of houses.

A fence gate clanged before Eddie walked around the corner of a house and stopped in the front yard. He’d smeared the blood from his chin up his sharp jaw. The blood on his scrubs had oxidized to a rust brown. From this distance and through the ash-fall, his cursed eyes could be mistaken for pale ones. It didn’t suit his face. He looked best with brown sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks. He looked best smiling. He looked best when he’d been yours.

But he wasn’t yours anymore — and you didn’t know if he’d ever be again.

The edges of your vision blurred. You took a stuttering breath. There had to be a way to get him back. If Vecna could animate him, you could restore him.

You stepped onto the grass, heading for the woods. Eddie matched your pace stride for stride. At the edge of the yard where manicured turned wild, he quickened his steps.

He wasn’t toying with you any longer.

You ran, graceless and bumbling, into the woods. The real fight started now. Under the canopy of ash-covered foliage, shadows deepened. Your heart pounded rabbit-fast. Branches and twigs snagged your sleeves and hair, scratched your exposed skin. You couldn’t hear anything beyond the sound of your panting breath.

After jumping the third log, your thighs almost gave out. You staggered to a thick tree and lay against it. Your temples throbbed with your forceful heartbeat. Sweat beaded down your face.

Sudden weight pressed you against the tree. The musty scent of dried blood filled your nose. Hands grabbed your hips.

“Got you.”

You gasped and tripped sideways. Eddie held the back of your jeans until you pushed him away. He caught your forearm until you wheeled it out of his grasp. You spun and bolted deeper into the woods.

He clawed at your shirt with every step, fingers scraping down your back. You lunged to the side. Arms hooked around you before lifting you off the ground. You kicked out and writhed. He swayed with you to expel your momentum. He then brought your upper body close and dragged his sharp teeth over the side of your neck.

You stiffened, thinking of the MP he’d killed.

This couldn’t be it. Eddie wouldn’t kill you. This couldn’t be what Vecna had planned. It made no sense. You had magic, for fuck’s sake.

“No, let me go!”

“Or what?”

He didn’t even sound out of breath.

You pushed against his arms.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’d like to see you try, witch.”

You arched your back, freeing your arms, and slapped your palms on his cold forearm. You concentrated all your energy into them. The air cooled. The temperature dropped so fast, you expected to see your breath fog. You shivered as goosebumps rose along your skin. You pushed the energy as heat into him.

He howled and released you.

You landed hard and fumbled forward. The energy vanished from your hands like it’d never been there. The air heated. Your forehead ached from the quick temperature change. However, you couldn’t let that stop you. Eddie was right behind you.

After lumbering into a tree, you found your balance and pushed off. You ran with the hope it was away from the houses and fissure.

You glanced back. Eddie was nowhere to be seen. You couldn’t slow to catch sight of him. Like before, you knew he followed you.

He darted out between two trees and tackled you into another. Your back struck the unyielding trunk. It knocked the breath from your lungs. He pressed his burnt forearm across your upper chest, pinning you to the tree.

You heaved for air and pushed at his elbow and wrist. His other hand went to your hip.

“You will see this through,” he said, leaning his weight on you. “It’s your responsibility.”

You shook your head. At one time, having him against you would’ve been a comfort. You would’ve wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his neck.

He said, “We should thank you, you know. None of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t cleared the way.”

You hung your head and held onto his arm. He was right. You’d opened the proverbial door for Vecna.

“I know,” you said. “I thought I understood. I thought… I thought I could heal this place.”

He huffed.

“So arrogant.”

The corner of your mouth quirked.

“Yeah, so fucking arrogant. Just like Vecna.”

“But Source can do what you can’t.”

“Oh?” You met his colorless gaze. “Like make the world worse?” Searching his blank face, you said, “He’s going to kill everything.”

“Sometimes destruction is a means of restoration.”

“That’s not what you believe.”

“What do you know of what I believe?”

“I know you want to create.”

“I am creating — with Source.”

“I thought you wanted to create with me. You wanted to leave this town with me.”

“No, I—”

“Yes. Don’t you remember what you said on New Year’s? You said I inspire you. You want to write songs for me! You said you think about me every day!” You touched his cold cheeks. “You said you’d give me everything.” You inhaled and put weight into your words. “So, give. me. everything.”

The weight of magic overloaded your limbs. You fisted his shirt to stay upright. However, he was no stronger.

Together, you fell to the ground.

Through gritted teeth, he said, “No, I’m doing what needs to be done.”

“For who, huh? You? Me?” You bent closer, taking the risk he wouldn’t choke or bite you. “Don’t you care — about me — at all?”

You wanted to ask if he loved you anymore, but… That was too far, too much. You imagined all the venom Vecna would make him spit.

“I do this because I—” He blinked. “It has to be done.”

“Are you listening to yourself right now?”

“What?”

“He killed me. Vecna killed me. He took Max.” You motioned to your head and said, “He killed me,” before motioning to your heart.

“Then you should’ve stayed dead.”

“Well, here I am.” You threw your hands wide. “Just like you.”

“You’re pointless.” He moved in to drive his words home. “You’re a little rich girl slumming it. You have all this power, but you never make anyone’s life easier. You have it easy. You’re spoiled and entitled, and we’re glad we killed you.”

“Fuck you! He killed you, too!”

What he said couldn’t be true. That’s not what Eddie thought. Right? You weren’t… You couldn’t be… It must’ve been a ploy by Vecna to hit where it hurt. He’d pulled some doubt or negativity from your mind months ago.

“It had to be done,” Eddie said.

“And what’s he going to do when he gets what he wants, huh?”

“I…”

“Answer me! What’s he going to do to us?”

“He’ll…”

“He’ll kill us again, Eddie.”

“No, he—” He frowned, looking away. His mouth opened and closed. “No…”

“Yes!”

You grabbed his face and forced him to meet your gaze. You wouldn’t play into Vecna’s hands by abandoning Eddie. Too many people had done that already, and you refused to be another.

“Come back to me.”

He wrenched his head from your hold to hide his face.

“I can’t come back. No, I— I’m where I need to be. I’m whole here. I’m bigger than… Bigger than—”

“Come back, honey.”

He looked to the side, the corners of his mouth turned down.

“You know, I never told you how you feel to me,” you said. “What you feel like. I figured it out in Chicago. At the concert.” You followed the slope of his blood-covered jaw with your eyes. “With all those people around us, you still stood out to me. I couldn’t help but feel you… feel your warmth.” You rested your forehead on his temple and softly said, “You’ve always been a flame in the dark.”

He propped his hands on his knees, sagging.

You softly added, “He can’t make it out of the Upside Down without us. It’s you and me. It’s always been you and me.”

He pulled away to look at you.

“You and me?”

You nodded.

“However long we got.”

His face became a rictus of pain, eyes going full black. Gray veins wormed under his sallow skin. He shook and wailed. You held his shoulders to keep him upright. He coughed black liquid as his eyes flashed brown. The liquid trickled down his chin to mix with the dry blood. His eyes clouded white.

He listed right. You couldn’t steady him as his weight dropped. You cushioned his head as he fell, your mind racing. Could you use the Eradix spell now? Would it kill Eddie, too? Did you want to gamble with his life? Was the nexus open enough for any spell to get through or not? Would he hate you if you couldn’t do anything?

The whites of his eyes went red — like blood, like lightning. He flailed. The black liquid from his chin smeared your inner forearm. Blistering heat sizzled up your nerves. You pulled away with a curse and a quick draw of breath. Your skin puckered. You needed to get it off you.

The few fallen leaves crumbled in your grasp. You picked at your shirt. If the liquid burned your skin, it would probably burn through clothing. Then you’d be in the same predicament, but this time on your stomach. The only solution was scraping it off.

Leaning over, you bit your lip and dragged your throbbing forearm across the bark of the tree. It abraded the wound like sandpaper. A whine escaped your throat.

Eddie’s yowl eclipsed it. He thrashed to the side. The gray veins darkened. He retched more black liquid. It sprayed over rotting moss.

The entire forest was rotting. The leaden sky became visible as leaves drooped, black and brown and covered in ash. Even the evergreens umbered.

“Eddie,” you said, touching his sallow cheek. “Eddie, don’t leave me.”

He rolled onto his back, coughing a mix of black and red. It splattered his reviving face. The eyes that stared at you were the Bambi brown you adored. Red bloomed across his clothes in blurry slashes and discs.

“No no no no no…”

A pained, distant roar rang through the woods.

You clambered for the side-seam of your shirt. You could use the fabric to wipe the caustic liquid from his skin. Then you had to stop the bleeding. He couldn’t— Not like this. You wouldn’t let him— Not when you could make it right.

His shaking hand made its way to your face, fingers warm on your cheek.

His voice was thick when he said, “Sweetheart…”

You knew what he was going to say, the jerk.

Tearing an uneven strip from your shirt, you said, “Shut up, no.”

His eyelids fluttered and hand dropped to the ground.

“You gotta take ‘im out then.”

“You’re more important.”

He grinned, eyes half-closed and teeth red with blood.

“You flatter me.”

“Quit distracting me.”

You wiped at his chin first, then his cheeks and neck. There had to be a way to get Vecna and heal Eddie at the same time. His bloodstains grew. Time was running out.

“Far be it from…” He panted. “From me…”

“Oh my God, will you be quiet?!”

“Impossible.”

You laughed despite yourself. A sob bubbled out between breaths. Your tears landed on his top. Ignoring them, you threw the soiled fabric and pressed your palms to the biggest bloodstain on his torso. Thick, fresh blood oozed between your fingers. He winced and tensed. You told him to relax.

He breathed, “Fuckin’ bats…”

That was right, the demobats had done this. The bats that had been yours, but taken over by Vecna. They’d become part of the hivemind — and maybe you had, too, until your death. Vecna had sent them. Even if they were dead, they remained a part of him. The hivemind was a loop—

Which meant you could send back what they’d done.

Like a karma spell. What went around came around. You couldn’t recall a full spell, but you remembered enough to focus your intention.

“Stay still,” you said, settling on your calves. “Thought of something.”

He gestured he wouldn’t go anywhere.

You closed your eyes to visualize the vague, shadowy form of Vecna superimposed on Eddie.

“Three times three; Here’s what you’ve bid.” You imagined every bite and every tear pulling out of Eddie’s body. “Own what you did.” You pushed the wounds into Vecna. “Reap what you sowed; A torment you’re owed.”

Eddie twitched under your hands. He choked around broken syllables. One of his hands wrapped around your wrist.

That same pained, distant roar came again.

You met Eddie’s distressed eyes.

“It’s okay,” he croaked. “Keep—”

You nodded, shutting your eyes, and repeated the chant, putting more force behind it. He wheezed as his hold loosened. You bent over him as if to shelter him, but it was too late for that.

You said the spell again. Your fingertips dug into his flesh.

“C’mon, you fucking shit.” You repeated the spell at double speed. “Get out!”

A terrible roar vibrated the very air, resounding from every direction. The ground shuddered. Ash showered from the tree canopy. Eddie’s hand fell from your wrist.

You shoved his shirt up. Your bloody fingerprints joined the blood-rimed scars littering his stomach. Despite the healing, his chest stayed unnaturally still.

If he was healed, why didn’t his chest move?

“Eddie?” You tapped his cheek and put a finger under his nose to check for breath. “Eddie?”

When he didn’t respond, and you couldn’t feel him exhale, you rose onto your knees. You hadn’t cast spell after spell, cried pitchers of tears, and literally died to lose him like this.

Those CPR lessons from middle school had better pay off, you thought as you got into position.

You layered your hands at the center of his chest, hoping you weren’t making a mistake. You used your weight to compress his chest in a fast rhythm. After a few seconds, you tilted his chin back, sealed your lips over his, and breathed air into his lungs.

Cycling through compressions and breathing, you began silently bargaining. If he lived, you’d give up anything — Djarums, wearing black, spellwork. If he lived, you’d do anything — tell your parents about you being a witch, volunteer at an old-folks home, bless every person you interacted with. Anything. Anything to get him back. Whatever higher power out there told you to do, you’d do it.

You puffed into his lungs once, twice. You begged him to breathe. He convulsed, feet kicking the dead leaves. You cried out in relief before resting your forehead on his shoulder. His head flopped to the side as he coughed and sputtered.

His voice was thready as he said, “Ow.”

You straightened and held his cheek. He didn’t pull away from your touch or stiffen, but something in his body language shifted. Like you made him uncomfortable, and he didn’t want you to know you made him uncomfortable.

“Can you breathe okay?” you asked, withdrawing your hand from his cheek. “Any sharp pain?”

“No, just… just sore.”

You nodded, gnawing on your lip, and rubbed your dirty palms on your thighs.

He asked, “Vecna’s alive, isn’t he?”

You nodded again.

With your left eye still cursed, you had to assume so. You’d failed. Sure, you’d injured him. Maybe that would work in El’s favor. Maybe that would be enough.

You glanced at Eddie. He lay in the dead leaves, scrubs bloody and morgue tag around his toe.

Injuring Vecna wasn’t enough. Leaving it to El wasn’t enough.

“I think I can kill him.”

Eddie strained onto an elbow. You reached for him, then stopped short. You didn’t want to make him uneasy. He closed his eyes as he breathed through obvious discomfort.

He asked, “What do you need?” before opening his eyes.

“Nothing.” You swallowed. “I just need to concentrate.”

In the meantime, ash had ceased falling through the withering trees. Chittering from the demodogs had quieted as well. You took that for a good sign. It was time to hit Vecna while he was down.

However, if using magic made Eddie uncomfortable, you wouldn’t do it in front of him.

“Rest here,” you said and scooted back on your knees.

Your gut twisted and muscles quivered. The back of your neck twinged.

“Where—”

“I’ll be over there.” At random, you pointed to your right. “It won’t take long.”

You stood on flimsy legs. The woods spun and became fuzzy. The ground tilted. You caught yourself on aching, tired arms as you collapsed to the side.

Eddie said, “Don’t—”

“No,” you said. “I can do this.”

You shook yourself alert before attempting to stand again. This time, you rose by degrees. Your knees still wobbled, and your fatigued thighs complained, but you stood. You couldn’t give up. Vecna still lived.

Eddie said your name like a question.

You assured him it would be alright. Then, taking deliberate, deep breaths, you heel-toed it to a tree a few yards away. After rounding the trunk, you slumped. The bark caught on your shirtsleeve and flecked away in brittle pieces.

You sank to your knees, skeptical of your ability to stand again. That doubt hardly deterred you. If Vecna died after this spell, you’d sleep off the exhaustion here.

You leaned your shoulder on the trunk and closed your eyes. Even though you had no idea what Vecna looked like, you knew his energy. You threw a silent prayer out to guide the Eradix spell. No one else should be harmed.

Enough people had suffered because of Vecna.

You bowed your head and fisted your hands. “Radicitus scindo, vlaen forma,” flowed from your lips without thought. Thunder boomed nearby. You repeated the incantation, thinking of an arrow nocked. Again, you repeated it. You loosed the arrow. It blazed through the air, its tip glinting sharp and true.

You wet your lips, tasting steel. Each word of the incantation rocked you forward. Your arrow glided through smoke and lightning, a cage of lies, a temple to misery. Dark secrets yielded like the earth to a shovel.

Clouded eyes widened when the arrow struck.

Vines like veins burst to hemorrhage inky bile. It flooded the blood-soaked land in a torrent of black. The red sky turned gray. Screams, mighty and meek, crashed across realities. Pillars housing relics of despair crumbled.

Countless hands rose from the inhospitable depths to flay burnt, corrupted flesh. They whispered his name; your incantation beneath. He attempted to drive them away, but the dead were relentless. They didn’t know pain or exhaustion. There was no torment he could show them to make them cower.

They pulled at his neck, his scalp, his open mouth. He gurgled and choked on decades of his own creation. Pieces of him disintegrated, leaving swirls of gray in the ichor’s black mirror.

The dead dragged him under at last. Then there was silence, like the brief hush after a long exhale.

His inner world fragmented with a bellow of thunder. The last beat of his desiccated heart. Fragments became slices became scraps became splinters became particles — until there was nothing.

Not even your arrow remained.

Cool droplets landed in your hair, slunk down your forehead. You opened your eyes to a murky woodland. Raindrops trickled over trembling leaves. You blinked before bringing your fingers in front of your left eye. You could see them.

The curse had been lifted. Vecna was dead. Was Max awake? There was no reason to think she wasn’t.

With a grin, you called, “Eddie?” and spread your hands on the damp soil.

Only the peaceful tip-tap of drizzle answered.

“Eddie, are you there?”

Using the trunk for balance, you stood. Your rubbery legs held your weight, but you wouldn’t trust them to run a marathon any time soon. You held onto the trunk and inched around it.

Eddie was gone. The used strip of your shirt lay amongst the leaves as evidence he’d been there.

You left the safety of the tree, heading to where you’d left him. You examined the ground to determine where he’d gone, because you couldn’t linger while a storm gathered. Trampled leaves offered some direction. You followed the trail, yet the surrounding woods remained unfamiliar. Of course, you reasoned, you hadn’t exactly been surveying the land as you ran from him.

Step by aching step, minute after barren minute, your heartbeat sped. Your chest constricted. He wouldn’t abandon you. Your shirt dampened with chilly rain and new sweat. He wasn’t callous. The trees all looked alike. You assured yourself you weren’t walking in circles.

Ahead, leaves crunched in uneven strikes. Like tottering footsteps. You opened your mouth to call for Eddie, but you stopped short. That could be anyone. You huddled behind the nearest tree. They could be a soldier or a lone vigilante or an injured demo-creature.

Lord, you hoped it wasn’t a demo-creature.

You put a hand over your mouth and nose to muffle your breathing. Footsteps shuffled past. You stole a quick look, recognizing the dark hair and green scrubs. You slumped and caught yourself before you fell.

“Eddie?”

He spun to face you and winced.

“Hey, I—” He bounced on one foot. “Goddammit…”

He bent and did something at ground-level the leaves obscured. You stood and eased from your hiding spot. He staggered before crowing. He sounded like his old self, which made you smile.

He straightened, holding the morgue tag aloft.

“Fucking thing’s annoying.”

“I bet.” You wiped water from your forehead with the back of your hand. “Where’d you go?”

“Found us a ride.”

“My car’s parked at the hospital.”

“We’ll get it later.” He approached you, tucking the tag in the shirt’s breast-pocket, and held out his hand. “C’mon, our chariot awaits.”

You dried your palms on the sides of your jeans.

“Are you sure?”

He frowned, his hand dropping to the side.

“Sure about what?”

“That you want me touching you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Before… After I…” You sighed and shook your head, too tired to explain. “Nevermind.”

“Hey,” he said, drawing near to cup your cheek with a trembling hand. “We’re—uh… We’re good, alright? I’m… good.”

You put your hand over his and leaned into his touch.

“Me too.” You gave him a wry look. “Under the circumstances.”

He grinned.

“Yeah, your eyes are the same color now.”

You returned the grin.

“Yeah, you’re breathing.”

His grin widened.

“What a pair we make.”

He extracted his hand and offered it for you to take. You curled your hand around his palm. His fingers tightened. That certain touch was enough to keep you going, though neither of you could walk at a brisk pace.

“Sorry if I freaked you out by disappearing back there,” he said as he picked his way through the underbrush. “I wasn’t leaving-leaving, but I knew it was safe. I… I knew you were safe.”

You squeezed his hand in affection before offering your socks to protect his feet. He refused, albeit kindly, explaining he didn’t want to stick around long enough to put them on.

“Are there demo-whatevers out there?” you asked.

“Dead ones.”

“Holy shit.”

“It’s a goddamn mess, but the truck can handle it.”

“Truck?”

“Unlocked. Looked like the owner left in a hurry.”

You didn’t blame them.

He asked, “Where do you want to go?”

With a sigh, you mentally deliberated. Your house was across town. Or at least, you thought it was. His might be closer, but there’d been a gate in its ceiling. No doubt that had turned into the start of a fissure. So that was out. Getting your car from the hospital meant driving close to the nexus — and the heart of the battle.

The underbrush yielded to a carpet of mown grass. Eddie rubbed his feet on it, muttered how much nicer it’d been when he hadn’t felt pain.

The cloudy sky was just a cloudy sky that promised steady rain. The tower of smoke from the nexus had vanished. You’d never experience this level of stillness and quiet. No whoosh of cars, no conversations, no television or radio, no pet noises, no chirping birds. It was like you and Eddie were the last people in Hawkins.

Even so, Eddie hadn’t joked when he said the street was a mess. Demo-creature bodies littered the pavement and yards. Some shaped like canines, others like spindly humanoids, but all their petaled mouths and clawed hands lay limp and bloody.

You whispered, “Holy shit.”

This was what the predators you’d heard months ago looked like. The lamprey-like tooth on your necklace came from them.

The rain started coming faster.

Eddie gave your hand a gentle tug.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

You nodded, letting him lead you across yards, through rusting gates, and around painted sheds. He guided you to the passenger side of a maroon-and-white pickup truck parked in front of a detached garage. The worn interior smelled dusty, but you cracked the window as Eddie slid behind the steering wheel.

He unclipped the steering column and pulled a socket of wires loose. From the bundle, he chose two wires and yanked them from the socket. Using his shirt hem as insulation, he twisted the wires together. The dash lights and radio lit. Static gushed from the speakers. You turned the volume knob until the radio clicked off. He nodded in thanks and pulled another wire loose to graze it with the twisted wires.

Sparks blinked across the exposed metal.

The engine rumbled to life. You hooted in delight and drummed on the dashboard. Eddie beamed at you, revving the engine.

He gave the locked steering wheel a good heave. Metal pinged from inside the steering column. He turned on the windshield wipers and shifted the truck into Reverse.

“Where to, my lady?”

“Well, I’ve been staying at Steve’s, so…”

With a sly look, he asked, “Is there something you wish to tell me?” His eyes widened. “Have I been replaced?”

You chortled.

“It’s not like that.” You poked his upper arm. “I’ll explain on the way there.”

Radicitus scindo, vlaen forma = (butchered latin and dutch) By the roots I tear, to flay the body

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #stranger things #em tagd #waywardrose writes

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adultswim2021 · 8 months

Text

Metalocalypse #36: “Snakes n’ Barrels II” | August 25, 2008 - 12:00AM | S02E16

Well! This certainly is a momentous episode! I guess. Well, it’s the first thirty minute episode, which isn’t nothing. The next season would be presented in the half hour format, I’m guessing in part due to the direct success of this episode. This is sorta the “Fonzie's Getting Married” of Metalocalypse.

This one is basically about the perils of sobriety. Pickles old band Snakes n’ Barrels gets back together without him. The effects of the dangerous drug they were dosed with in the first Snakes n’ Barrels episode turned all but Pickles into a blank slate, prime for reprogramming. Ricky Kixx, an obnoxious sober rock star (voiced by Mike Patton), happens to be the first guy to waltz into the band’s orbit. He does indeed reprogram them as a “bragging about sobriety” band. Pickles intends to settle the score with them, but they have a restraining order against him. Pickles will have to violate a legal boundary!

Meanwhile: Ricky Kixx turns out to be a rageaholic who murders one of his assistants after revealing to him that he hates being sober, and considers it to be a terrible prison. He preaches sobriety just to make those around him as miserable as he is. Murderface feels angst from not having his side project PLANET PISS properly registered, and goes apeshit when he finds out Toki registered every planet piss web domain there is as a mean prank. Murderface goes to confront Toki at the Snakes n’ Barrels concert but Toki has gone absolutely mental beating an especially obnoxious straight-edge fan half-to-death. This is during the show’s climax when lingering effects of the drug in the bands' systems cause mass chaos.

It is time for me to list stuff now. Here are some other things in the episode: Dr. Rockso is in this, no longer a clown and two months sober (give or take). He is eventually tempted by his old clownsona in a series of hallucinations. There is a funny scene where Nathan explosion slaps the vendors at the sober rock show, he just slaps them silly. Uh, that’s only two things, which isn’t really a list. Okay, a third thing: they cut the theme song short for fun. That’s fun!

I like this episode fine, but I don’t think I loved it. It ends fairly strong, it feels slightly experimental in that we get some longer scenes, like when Dethklok bash their manager’s lamp collection, and a fun aside where Pickles gives his tour of LA. Both of these things would have probably been cut from an 11 minute version of the episode. They’re fun, but I wouldn’t consider these among my favorite scenes in Metalocalypse history. I will forever be curious what an edited-down version of this episode would be like. It will haunt me for the rest of my days.

MAIL BAG

Hello, I am here and I'm nice. Time to answer some messages that the people (my many very real fans) are sending me:

these "tasty tuesdays" have really been running me for a loop

Oh, I don't know... tuesday is tasty to me, but maybe for you? (??)

i log it and there's nothing, every tuesday, for whatever reason. out partying with your friends? hmm? can you at least have a microblog every tuesday about the tastiest thing you had in the past week. people would actually like it. that's the thing.

Okay: for real: My initial post on this blog I basically said "I'm gonna update mostly every day but please don't mind it when I skip a day" and I'm basically exercising that clause right there. But yeah, I have a thing I do on Tuesday nights and I seemingly, no matter what, wind up working later than usual on Tuesday so I almost never have time. I also tend to burn out on the blog when I consciously build up a backlog. Maybe you noticed or maybe you didn't, but MONDAY evenings have sorta become a crapshoot for me lately, too.

Very fun fact: I was going to attempt a Tuesday post last night, and figured I could knock out this episode/write-up very easily, and then put it on and saw it was a double episode instead of the previously-assumed 11 minutes. So I bailed! What could have been!

Also, the elite group of very real hackers who humiliate me by titling my Tuesday posts as some variation of "Tasty Tuesday" have gotten in touch with me and told me that they need more time to come up with new titles. I hate that they are disgracing my blog with their vandalism, but I respect the creative process enough that I feel I must oblige.

Also the tastiest thing I eat each week is always PUSSY

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #metalocalypse

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wikifido · 10 months

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Prologue (Seven Months Ago)

Special Thanks to @gullethead for the work on the Cholitan Language used here and throughout the story. Mwaxanare feels the encroaching claustrophobia of the heavily modified walls of the underground pathways of the once grand Choiltan palace; aside from the occasional glimpse of a Quetzalcoatl carving or words written in the near-extinct Choiltan script, the palace was unrecognizable as a relic of her family's past.

She had seen these sights through the waters of the Llōcpenhampōzpōapintop, an ancient urn shaped divination tool, as Duvanith and her Adventuring Company had worked their way down to the source of the Curse. The destruction, the wonton violation of the palace, felt all the more real standing in its halls than viewing it through the visions provided through the urn’s illusory waters.

“Your Majesty,” a small voice cuts through her visual search for more secrets paneled over by the Magus behind the Curse, one she assumed to be Anghagros, known to many by the name he foisted upon himself during the destruction of Choilt’s one time Capital ‘The Great Destroyer’.

It was her new Court Necromancer, a green-skinned goblin in an elaborate purple coat, Doctor Archibald Clokz. “We can’t spend an eternity on every floor, the protection charm only has four hours on it, and it’s strongest at the start.”

Mwaxanare knew that he was right, and that the halls of the palace weren’t as welcoming to her as they may have once been; she knew she was stalling though there was so much unknown below them, knowing the things that had come after she brushed away the illusory images of Duvanith in the palaces deepest depths, she was pretty sure she knew what she would find.

A week afterward, she had seen a Bauhinia bush begin to bud; it was the first sign she had seen that Duvanith and her Company had succeeded, and a month and a half later, the first Choiltan child to be born alive since the curse began. Upon reaching the third month, it became evident that Duvanith wouldn’t come stumbling out of the jungle with the Chalice in her hand like the ending to every one of the garbage romance paperbacks written about this sort of thing.

That’s because this was real life, and even if it was fantasy, the happy ending was the end of the Curse, as opposed to her Champion’s return.

She walks on, subconsciously moving her hand as though to clear her long hair from an obstacle, once again forgetting she had cut it months ago just after she and her army had driven the Imperials from Port Currington’s shore, or now as it was known correctly as Neparāticue once again.

If there was one thing that she could be sure of, the Curse had bolstered her ability to take back the Port; between a terrible local harvest and what she assumed was a bad harvest in the Empire, she almost felt bad for the sheer violence her army was able to muster on the Imperial Regiment.

Almost.

The sound of bones clattering together echoes off the walls around her; she turns to look at Clokz again, but before she can say anything, he answers her question.

“Strong readings for Crone Magic.” He removes a small trinket from the inside of his coat, four small bones linked together with a cord. They writhe and wriggle as a snake would, generating a much softer bone-clattering sound, suggesting the first was likely magically amplified; the Necromancer drops the token to the floor. It clatters into a pile and then moves along the floor like an inchworm, away from them.

“Do we follow it?” Mwaxanare says, assuming that it was making its way toward the source of its detection. Clokz puts on a skeptical look and waves his hand in the direction of its travel.

“Ladies first, your majesty.”

Mwaxanare rolls her eyes, places her hand on the grip of her macuahuitl, and follows the eerie clatter of bones.

Clokz, from the moment she had met him, was a bit put off by Crone Magic. He says it doesn’t follow the understood rules of Magic, that there’s something innate, twisted, about the Crones that wield it that make them capable of things that normal learned Magus simply aren’t. She wasn’t sure if Clokz was merely superstitious or just frustrated that the Crones likely kept whatever rules their magic ran on very secret. Though given that Memāxaxīm had attempted to curse them ‘never to step foot in Choilt again’ and they simply worked around it by enchanting their feet away, perhaps they were some unique Magic at play.

The clattering stops, and a fetid stench hits Mwaxanare’s nose.

In front of her was a chamber, the very chamber she had brushed away from the Llōcpenhampōzpōapintop’s enchanted waters during Duvanith’s struggle with the Crones.

“I gotta assume this is how a Coven lair always smells,” Clokz announces, making his way around the edges of the chamber and peering into vials and opening containers curiously.

Mwaxanare’s eyes scan around the room, lingering on each of the bodies of the Crones and finding a flash of pink on the figure in the middle. Mwaxanare feels her heart skip, and she moves to the slumped mess draped in dirty cloaks.

A pressed pink orchid, the flower Mwaxanare had given Duvanith on the morning she had set out to Tēntāmtāxi to dive the Tombs below the Palace. The day after, Duvanith stole a kiss from her, as impossible as it was to steal something that she was desperately trying to give anyways.

As she begins to lean over to pick up the flower, her foot meets something hard underneath the Crones cloak, letting out the unmistakable sound of metal scraping on stone. After plucking the orchid off the Crones cloak, she flips the section concealing the metal object over.

There, staring back at her with its masterfully worked vacuous eye sockets, was the Skull Chalice of Ichillhez. She picks it up by its jewel-encrusted stem and rises; from the corner of her eye, she sees a flat-soled set of adventuring boots with rounded heel and toe areas—her heart craters.

‘Only one adventurer stubborn enough to wear those thirty days through the jungle.’ She thinks to herself, stepping towards Duvaniths body. As it comes into view, she lets out a surprised yelp, Chalice crashes to the floor, and her hand shoots up to cover her mouth.

Clokz’s footsteps quickly draw him to her side, likely concerned about a trap the Crones had laid or a temporary failure of his protection charm.

“Do you think we’ll be able to bring her back?” Mwaxanare asks quietly through her hand

“Your Majesty, I’m a Necromancer, not a fucking brain surgeon,” Clokz says, motioning at Duvaniths body, his hand lingering over the crushed mess that had once been her head.

Mwaxanare exhales, fighting tears back for a moment.

“Well, we’re going to try,” she says, emotions riding in her voice. She feels her hand enveloped by both of Clokz’s.

“I’ll try, but there are no promises.”

Mwaxanare takes a sharp breath. Clokz pats her hand a few times before releasing it and says.

“I’ll,” he pauses. “Give you some time.”

Mwaxanare watches him walk to the corner of the room and begin levitating things out from in front of a seemingly barricaded door. She watches him for far too long, not wanting to turn her head back to face the body of her Champion.

Anghagros was a Magus; most Magus didn’t kill like this.

This was personal.

This was a vendetta.

He didn’t want Duvanith to come back, which was why Mwaxanare needed to ensure she got her back.

She picks up the Chalice as the door Clokz had been working to free creaks open.

“Mwaxanare, you’re not gonna fucking believe this.” a level of bewilderment in his voice.

She wipes a few latent tears away.

“Coming.”

#fiction writing #original character #fiction #fantasy #dieselpunk #dungeons and dragons #short story #ttrpg stuff #ttrpg community #worldbuilding #writeblr

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stingslikeabee · 1 year

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majima was watching his hostesses as they worked away, talking, flirting, & enjoying themselves with the men that they had sat down with them. he did hear a bit of commotion going on as he looked in the direction where it was coming from ... of course, it was melissa ; she always got the more problematic sort of men, mainly because she knew how to deal with them, but there were times it even got a bit far for her to handle.

she must have gave that dude a punch in the face, majima chuckled, but now it had went south, as the said dude had smashed a bottle against the table, & was threatening melissa.

fuck me. majima had to go down there, didn't he ? well, there was no doubt about it, he wasn't going to let this guy get away for threatening a woman, even if she did punch him in the face, it was likely something he did to earn it. walking down, he came up to the man who was shouting all kind of derogatory terms at melissa.

❝ mind if ya come out back with me ? ❞

majima was going to beat the man to a pulp. he'll show him what exactly happens when someone threatens a hostess at the grand. the man made some choice words towards him, but agreed regardless, but not without the extra threat toward melissa that when he's done with majima, he'll come back to her. that wasn't gonna happen.

leading him out, majima allowed him to use the back door to the alleyway behind the grand first as he made sure to pick up the steel baseball bat, & held it over his shoulder. this was just like the ol' days. majima reminisced. he didn't bother to close the door fully, it wasn't like any of his customers could hear back here, his passive emotions changed to anger, as he barely gave the man time to think.

he smashed into him with his baseball bat, already he could hear the familiar sound of bones cracking as the man fell down, but that didn't stop majima from continuing his onslaught. the man was still conscious, so majima took that as an opportunity to say in a low voice, the final words that this asshole would ever hear.

❝ i hate it when people threaten my girls, yer nothin' but a pile o' fuckin' shit. ❞

the fear in the others eyes were noticeable as he laid there in a bloody mess, majima also had blood over his clothes, but one more final swing, & the man was no more. majima let go of his baseball bat, as he went into his pocket to get a smoke out, not intending to go back into the grand right away, but rather tend to his anger levels at the moment ; he had no idea if anyone was watching through the door.

unscripted asks . always accepting

Melissa had joined the hostessing industry in a similar situation to many other local girls - it seemed a good option to make money fast, particularly when one did not have the academic background or the right qualifications for other types of office jobs. What she lacked in comparison to her colleagues, however, were the 'right' looks and demeanor for a certain clientele; no matter if the woman spoke the local language perfectly and poured sake like the geishas of the old - Melissa did not look Japanese.

It would never make her the top billing hostess anywhere - but it was enough to earn her a spot with a tougher clientele. The brunette fancied herself a 'snake charmer' of sorts: the troublemakers, the biker gangs, the yakuza and overall unpolite and unruly men were the types she excelled with. Melissa was not easily intimidated or scared, and she knew how to talk back and even challenge some of the guys who clearly were expecting the ladies to cower instead.

However... Sometimes, the vipers bit back; as much as the hostess sometimes got the guys to behave and even turn into good customers, every now and then a jerk decided to ignore the rules and refused to listen to reason. Melissa didn't have problems calling guys out when they violated the no-touch policy - no matter if the victim happened to be the brunette herself or a colleague; that night, after the third attempt at getting a couple of self-entitled coliseum fighters to listen to her, the foreign lady did the one thing no one else in the Grand did.

She punched the guy - in the face. It always worked; no man ever expected a hostess in high heels to attack, but it didn't mean there was a chance to win in a fair fight. Besides - with his face (and ego) bruised, the guy was not looking for anything nice or just; the broken bottle and the expletives told her plenty, and Melissa had a look of pure outrage on the face by the time Majima arrived.

The woman blinked - and watched as the manager escorted the angry customer away, the brunette taking a second to make sure that her colleague was okay before walking in the same direction her boss had gone to. The other customer seemed to have sobered up and to turn into a real gentleman all of a sudden, and that gave some peace of mind for the hostess to go after Majima to check just how far in trouble she was going to get.

After all - her situation at the Grand wasn't precisely like everyone else's; there was an invisible leash around her neck with Sagawa's name on it, and Melissa should have been more careful. With the way the man could yank her and drag the woman to anywhere less pleasant, punching people wasn't going to make her a very welcome guest in other establishments. Nevertheless - Majima hadn't said a word to her (yet); it wasn't even the first time it happened, and at this point... Melissa was pretty convinced that her boss wasn't one of the bad guys.

Yakuza, surely - the eyepatch was unlikely to be due to anything else, really - but not one of the twisted ones like Sagawa.

No one stopped Melissa as she walked through the Grand (the perks of being an employee, after all); but as the sounds came from outside denouncing a real fight erupting, the hostess was careful to maneuver and hide inside, tilting her body just enough to get a peek at whatever was happening out there - and scoring a prime view of the literal beating offered by Majima.

Yeah, definitely yakuza. No sliver of doubt anymore.

And yet, the woman didn't flinch, turn away or closed her eyes while the guy got what was deserved, as bloody and violent as it got. The manager's final words were oddly satisfying - it felt fucking great to be looked after instead of merely exploited. They were all meant to look pretty and appear unattainable, but not every manager on the floor helped with the enforcement of these ground rules, particularly if the client paid well - Majima, on the other hand... He could be rough to misbehaving patrons, but a protector of his girls.

It was only when Majima was smoking and there was no chance of Melissa interrupting anything that she forced the door open - the hinges creaked and announced her presence, the hostess stepping outside in a manner that likely confirmed to the Grand manager that she had seen everything; the absence of surprise (or fear, disgust and anything related) on the brunette's face was telling enough.

"Thanks for lending a hand, Majima-san. They were disrespectful to Kanako-chan," she said first, acknowledging his timely interference upstairs, not to mention the fact he didn't stop to question or punish the girl - believing staff over clientele was a refreshing take in that business, "Nice moves. I never really learned how to play baseball as a kid - if you ever open classes, I would like to join."

#zankokukami #v: Yakuza #replied #blood tw #in which we go from 'I think my boss is former yakuza'#to 'my boss is DEFINITELY former yakuza'

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heretherebedork · 2 years

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a part of porsches emotional journey in ep5 thats really been on my mind is the whole scene after he comes back from being with vegas. i think a lot of it was him wrestling with the realization that despite how he feels and what happened, he still cares a lot about kinn. getting to break free with vegas and finally feel like himself again i think just gave him the mental break to recuperate and find the clarity and courage to talk to kinn, to clear the air, to have a real conversation. he walked into that room and sees kinn asleep and just sighs and he goes to wake him up by gently grabbing his shoulder and calling his name so softly. of course, only for it all to get thrown back in his face when kinn starts doing his power trip again and i feel like that was a huge shift for porsche. in their entire conversation he’s not yelling or shouting just exhausted and resigned (and getting more hurt with each minute despite initially hoping the conversation would mend something)

but i feel like in the shot when kinn leans close, porsches face reads like, instead of being afraid or upset, he’s grappling with the hurt of kinns words but also the hurt that he still cares about him. and i think that’s why he ends up leaving, and why when kinn comes to find at his house he is yelling and shouting and getting into it and why he seems so cut throat and unforgiving, even when they’re put in danger. i think, in his resigned realization that kinn has become someone he cares about, he’s decided he’s going to have to ask a lot more of him, and he won’t just let this or anything else be swept away because if he’s going to award kinn this much occupancy in his mind and his feelings and even his body if he felt like he experienced pleasure during that night despite the circumstances and would like to repeat it (obviously under better circumstances) than he has to demand more from kinn, and (this is speculation unfortunately) but i really feel like that’s the direction they’re taking porsches character which (if im right) im really excited for. either way, i just felt like my heart goes out to porsche first and foremost cuz all of this….it just cannot be easy emotions to work through

I hope that Porsche does not forgive Kinn that easily.

He might still care about him, but I think that only makes it worse because he knows how much Kinn hurt him and he's still aching for that pain.

But we will see.

I do not think Porsche came back to the mansion planning to talk to or forgive Kinn. I think he saw Kinn sleeping and thought that Kinn was planning to apologize to him and then woke him up, got a gun in the face and then yelled at and then informed that he was owned and all Porsche could think was that he should have stayed with Vegas because he doesn't know that the snake is lulling him into calm and the stick that beat him in a growing branch he'll help to trim.

I think Porsche is still in agony, still suffering from the absolute violation of Kinn raping him and Kinn has to accept his own regret and guilt and find a way to move them forward without just snapping at him because that's all he knows.

I also absolutely have no idea if Porsche wants to do anything else with Kinn at this point and I would lean towards a 'no, not yet' for that.

#no tags here #spoiler #spoilers

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haileycheyenne · 1 month

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Targeting Palestine since 1948

The Genocide Convention was written in the aftermath of World War II and the horrors of the Holocaust, especially to deter and prevent such horrors in the future and, failing that, to punish those responsible. The term “genocide” has been used to describe the mass murder of Armenians by the Ottomans, Stalin’s expulsion of Chechens, Ingush Tartars, and Jews from the U.S.S.R., the removal of Jews and Hungarians from Romania, and Italy’s efforts to clear Slovenes and Croats from the Dalmatian coast. Numerous prominent human rights authorities, advocates, and scholars have claimed that Israel’s policies and actions with respect to the Palestinian people have amounted to a form of genocide.

"The expulsions that have gone on from Lydda in 1947 and ‘48, when 700 or more villages in Palestine were destroyed, and in the expulsions that continued from that time until today. It’s correct and important to label it for what it is.” - Michael Ratner, Human Rights Lawyer and Center for Constitutional Rights Board President.

Israel publicly called for action against the Palestinian people that unequivocally meets the definition of Genocide under the 1948 Convention. On February of 2008, Matan Vilnai, Israel's Deputy of Defense Minister declared that increasing tensions between the Israelis and Palestinians in the Gaza Strip could bring on themselves what he called a Shoah, or holocaust. "The more rocketfire intensifies and the rockets reach a longer range, they will bring upon themselves a bigger Shoah."

In June of 2014 Israeli Justice Minister, Ayelet Shaked posted to Facebook claiming that "the entire Palestinian people is the enemy" and called for destruction of Palestine, "including its elderly, its women, its cities, its villages and its property and infrastructure." Her post also called for the killing of "the pregnant women who give birth to little snakes."

In August 2014, Moshe Feiglin, then-deputy speaker of the Israeli Knesset and member of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s ruling Likud Party, called for the destruction of Palestinian life in Gaza and offered a detailed plan for shipping Palestinians living in Gaza across the world. Specifically, he envisioned a scenario where the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) would find areas on the Sinai border to establish “tent encampments...until relevant emigration destinations are determined. Gaza is part of our Land and we will remain there forever. Liberation of parts of our land forever is the only thing that justifies endangering our soldiers in battle to capture land. Subsequent to the elimination of terror from Gaza, it will become part of sovereign Israel and will be populated by Jews. This will also serve to ease the housing crisis in Israel. The coastal train line will be extended, as soon as possible, to reach the entire length of Gaza.”

Dozens of Holocaust survivors, together with hundreds of descendants of Holocaust survivors and victims, accused Israel of “genocide” for the deaths of more than 2,000 Palestinians in Gaza during the 2014 Israeli military offensive against Gaza, "Operation Protective Edge".

Prominent human rights advocates and scholars have argued that the killings of Palestinians and their forceful expulsion from mandate Palestine in 1948, the Israeli occupation of the West Bank, East Jerusalem, and Gaza, and the violence and discrimination directed at Palestinians by the Israeli government have violated a number of human rights protections contained in international human rights law, genocide being among them.

#free gaza #freepalastine🇵🇸#palestinian genocide #save gaza #save the children #palestine #gaza strip

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sanini-panini · 1 year

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OKAY LAST ONE I THINK but. friends off tumblr threw questions at me from this oc ask game and i'm cross posting here for funsies (part 5). this one is also for all nineteen guys, but it's a lot easier because i have a chart of these since it's relevant to the soul hunt arc of karai's chosen.

🙉 HEAR-NO-EVIL - what is the worse thing your oc could hear from someone?

THE ENNEAD

jinal - i talked about this already here! the tldr is "you're keeping the others here, condemning them to hell along with you."

haku - "you're just like the necromancer." when the necromancer told haku about his plan to reset the universe, haku immediately rejected it--but a small part of them understood the reasoning. they hate that part of them with a passion. now luckily, peter says this exact thing to haku in canon, as ill-advised as this sounds. peter actually beautifully dissects haku's thought process, so i'll let him do the talking:

“Ten years ago, you violated your own rules, though, didn’t you?” Peter said slyly, circling the soul splinter like a snake surrounding its prey. “You sacrificed ten innocent mortal lives to save your family from prison. You changed your definition of an acceptable sacrifice, and that still scares you, because now that the line has been crossed, you’re afraid you’ll keep going in that direction until you become exactly the villain you’re fighting against. After all, that’s exactly how The Necromancer was born.”

minerva - "you are a self-centered leech." which is basically what jinal said to her right before killing her for the first time.

ven - "you have not lived up to the opportunities they gave you." related, of course, to the fact that ven was raised by minerva, jinal, and kai, and she cannot help but feel like she has let them down. (she has not) (she really has not)

kai - generally speaking, the ticket here is the insult mateen used to break kai right before killing him: "promises are cheap, kai, especially coming from you." currently in canon, however, you could probably say something like "jinal and ven are dying slowly and you're doing nothing to save them" and that would work just fine!

mateen - "after all these years, you haven't learned a thing. you still become a monster at the slightest hint of danger to the people you care about." if you want bonus points, you could mention skye.

ridwan - "the people you hold dear are precious gems, better than you'll ever be, and your presence only detracts from their worth." speaking, of course, about felix, jinal, and silpa.

silpa - "you've worked so hard to prevent something horrible from happening, and it's not enough. it will never be enough. it's all pointless in the end." no one had to tell silpa this directly. by the end of the fifty year imprisonment, she already knew it to be true.

felix - "you're dragging them down with your incompetence." the day felix learned that mateen was only doing yaran's bidding to keep felix safe was the day felix picked up this insecurity. it's never left him.

THE NEW GUARD

ilia - "you're just like the Ennead." the Ennead screwed over every main character in the cast by saddling them with illegal powers against their will and ilia doesn't really want to be like that. she doesn't want to be a god--but auster forces her to reconsider.

morgan - "you'll never make anything of yourself. you're trapped, and you'll never escape your father's grasp." she already thinks this on her own, but killing that last little bit of hope in her would crush her.

peter - talked about this here! the tldr is "your death will achieve little, and those left behind will mourn."

juli - "you're a weakling, and if you can't let go of your silly little fears, you'll die in the dirt, forgotten and unloved." i haven't touched on this a whole lot, but juli is afraid of dying... and they think this is a bad thing, bc when you're a footsoldier, it kind of is a bad thing.

lian - ooookay not to be on the nose about this but i think the answer to this is identical to their patron's. oops. "you have not lived up to the opportunities they gave you," in reference to the parents who adopted them out to keep them safe.

joshua - "you're a monster, joshua tenine." next question.

rae - "they should've survived instead of you." referencing the fact that rae and his parents all drowned in the same car, but rae survived because he was chosen by a god, so to speak. haku kept rae alive until help arrived, and rae constantly questions why it was him.

karyme - "you were gifted powers, and yet you haven't lived up to them. you are still useless to those around you." this is probably a normal insecurity to have when you are the only person on the team who both cannot use a weapon and does not have a combat power.

dani - "you will inevitably turn into your mother. it is impossible for you to become anything other than what you were raised to be." i am keeping this vague because i have yet to mention in canon what, specifically, dani was raised to be.

auster - "you're just a liability, helpless to protect those you care about." no one told auster this outright, but he definitely got the message loud and clear over the course of karai's chosen and it has caused him to take some. questionable risks. it's fine.

#sajani talks #ask games #oc tag #this is the plot of karai's chosen #like seriously. this is the core of the whole soul hunt arc.#i'm not tagging all nineteen of them bc that would be ridiculous

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serpentico · 2 years

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#he talks so mf much #that’s why he can’t lose #especially not to j** c*****#that would be a direct violation of snake rights #noam dar #sugar #my work #queen of the cruiserweights

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jungwonenthusiast · 3 years

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hii can i request bestfriends heeseung and y/n who have never done anything together but one night while having a sleepover things just go in that direction 👀👀👀 (using prompts 8 & 12 please🥺)

A/N: this is such a cute concept i love it (u didn’t specify who says what so i chose lol i hope thats okay, I also made hee a soft dom)

Warnings: oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex, cock warming

Word count: 3k

You tap lotion onto your face as Heeseung pulls his sheet mask off. He pats the remaining product into his skin.

“You don’t even need that,” you roll your eyes. “Your skin is already perfect.”

“Jealous?” he teases.

“Yes, I one hundred percent am.” you admit and he chuckles.

You finish up in the bathroom and then plop onto your bed. Heeseung leans over you and grabs the remote on your nightstand. He clicks to Bojack Horseman as always then lays down next to you, scrolling through his phone.

You kick him in the shin. “Gimme some space.”

He frowns and sprawls himself on top of you. “What, you don’t wanna love on me?”

You laugh and try to push him off. “I feel violated.”

He rolls away, chuckling.

You’re scrolling through tiktok together when a video of someone joking about porn comes up. You cackle and Heeseung looks at you.

“How do you know about that?” he asks, wide eyed.

“What do you mean?” you ask awkwardly.

“Do you watch porn?” he asks and you turn away from him, giggling.

“That’s a very private question.” you say, covering your face with your hands.

“So you do!” he exclaims and he’s blushing too.

You guys talked about sex occassionaly, only when you were sharing stories about hook ups though.

“What kind do you watch?” he says, only half joking and you punch him in the shoulder.

“That’s an extremely private question.” you say.

“I thought we were for lifers.” he replies and you laugh.

If he were a female friend you wouldn’t hesitate to tell her all of this, but for some reason he made you shy. You still remember when you became aware that he was a guy. It was the summer before tenth grade when he grew three inches, his voice dropped, and his shoulders began to broaden. It was the summer you became more aware of his masculinity and ever since then, things kind of changed. Not for the worse, things are just different now.

You continue to scroll when another scandalous tiktok comes up. It said something about wanting to be dominated and taken control of.

You groan. “Why do I keep getting these things?”

“The for you page gives you things that it knows you’d like.” he remarks and you scrunch your nose at him. “What? I think it was pretty hot.”

You choke. “You’re a bottom?”

“No!” he guffaws. “I meant to be the giver in that situation.”

“Ohhh,” you say, trying not to get too embarrassed. The thought of him doing that to someone drove you a little insane.

“Are you?” he asks and you shove him.

“You weirdo.” you accuse and he holds his hands up.

“I just think best friends should know these things about each other.”

You shrug him off and turn your phone off. “I don’t trust my phone anymore, let’s watch yours.”

You scoot over to him and rest your head on his shoulder.

He scoffs. “I thought you wanted space?”

“Are you complaining?” you tease.

“Of course not.” He fake yawns to get his arm around you and you cackle.

He taps a gentle beat onto your shoulder while scrolling through instagram. You can’t help but tense up in his embrace. He had been a bit more touchy than usual lately; random hugs, playing with your fingers, adjusting your clothes, and tying up your shoelaces whenever he could.

“Wow I do not like this.” he says at someone’s prom outfit.

“Me neither,” you frown. “It’s kind of outdated.”

“When’s our prom?” he asks.

“I think in a month.”

“We’re going together right?” he asks and your heart skips a beat. You figured that you’d go together but him asking you made you anxious.

“Yeah,” you try to sound confident.

“Are we gonna coordinate our outfits?” he lightly squeezes your side and you squeal.

“But we’re not going as a couple.” you say and he rolls his eyes.

“So? It’d be weird to show up together with mismatched outfits.” he says and you nod in agreement. “Do you have an idea of what you wanna wear?” he asks.

“I think I wanna go more simple and do black.” you say and he groans.

“You always wear black dresses.”

“And? I look hot in them.” you defend.

“You’re right you’re right.” he accepts defeat and you giggle.

As the night goes on you slowly slump further into Heeseung’s side. At one point his arm goes numb so you scooch in front of him and rest your back against his chest. You’ve gotten used to being so close to him, and at this point you just wanted more.

His arms are wrapped loosely around you as you watch Coraline on the tv. He reaches up to run his hand through his hair but instead punches you decently hard in the boob. You yelp and hold your chest.

“Ahh! Sorry sorry!” he holds your shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

You can’t help but laugh through your pain. “Trying to make me lose a boob or something?”

“Noo, no I’m sorry, forgive me.” he asks, sounding genuinely worried.

Sure you were exaggerating your reaction, but what’s wrong with having a little fun with him.

You elbow him in the side and he cries out.

“Revenge.” you say with a smug smile.

He waits a moment before grabbing your waist and flipping you onto your back. He’s always stronger than you would’ve guessed. You yell as he climbs on top of you and begins to tickle your sides.

You kick around and try to push him off but he won’t budge.

“Get off, I’m dying!” you cackle from his relentless tickling.

“You asked for it.” he says.

“I thought we promised no tickle fights?” you grab a pillow to protect yourself but he’s quick to chuck it away.

“I had my fingers crossed.” he jokes.

You muster all of your strength and hook your leg around him to get him onto his back, a trick Jungwon taught you.

Without thought, you climb on top of him and pin his hands down. It take you a moment to realize what position you’re in. You both freeze for a second before bursting out laughing.

You fall onto your back, holding your chest.

“What the hell was that?” he asks, laughing. “Some fifty shades of gray type of shit.”

You kick him in the shoulder. “I’m sorry!” you say through a fit of giggles. You try to push yourself up but your legs are bent in a way that makes it a little tough. Heeseung assists you and pulls you up into a sitting position by your waist.

You’re still giggling a bit when you feel his nose brush against yours.

“Hi.” you whisper and he waits a moment before gently pushing his lips against yours. Your heart leaps into your throat but you try to stay calm as possible.

He pulls away (to your disappointment) and looks at you with wide eyes.

“Fuck, I’m sorry-” he says and before he can finish your hold his face and kiss him back. His arms snake around your waist and he pulls you flush against him.

You can’t believe that this is happening. You wonder if all the things you’ve fantasized about would happen tonight. Of course not, you’re crazy, you think. But you could already imagine with hands adventuring your body, touching you just how you like it.

Your fingers dip into the back of his shirt collar. You’re barely touching his skin, but it still feels so special.

His lips move to your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck. Your breath becomes increasingly ragged as his kisses become more open mouthed and messy.

He looks up at you. “Is this okay? Like do you want this?”

You nod eagerly and he smiles. “Cute.” he says to himself.

He gently rests you onto your back and traces your waist before pushing your top up. He peppers kisses all over your stomach and ribs before getting to the band of your bralette.

You blush. “I would’ve worn something nicer if I knew this was gonna happen.”

He shakes his head. “I like it, it’s pretty.”

You tug your shirt over your head along with your bra. He lets out a small gasp and you rush to cover yourself.

“Wait, no no.” he pulls your hands away.

“You’re making me shy.” you turn your head away and he chuckles.

“So perfect.” he says before softly kissing your chest.

You let out a small moan while running your fingers through his hair.

He slowly runs his tongue over your nipples while rubbing your sides. You can feel wetness starting to pool in your underwear.

You instinctively swivel your hips, looking for some kind of stimulation and he smiles.

“Do you need something?” he asks teasingly and you feel your cheeks heat up.

“Yeah,” you answer.

“What is it?”

You shake your head out of embarrassment.

“Well you’re gonna have to tell me or I’m just gonna leave you like this.” he says nonchalantly and you sigh.

You swallow your pride. “Touch me, please?”

“Attagirl.” he says and tugs your shorts off. “Show me how you like it.”

Your eyes widen. “Huh?”

“You heard me,” he says. “Show me first.”

You breathe in nervously before sliding your hand into your underwear. You circle your clit once and do your best to hold in a moan. He pulls your underwear to the side to watch you.

“Do you think about me when you touch yourself?” he asks. “When you’re home alone and it’s late at night?”

You nod sheepishly and he smiles. “What do you imagine?”

“I’m not telling you,” you blush. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. If you tell me, I'll tell you what I think about too.” he suggests and you accept the deal.

“I-I imagine my fingers being yours,” you swallow thickly.

“Mhm,” he encourages you while gingerly kissing your thighs.

“And,” you hesitate for a moment. “I imagine your tongue on me, and you filling me up. What about you?”

He smiles. “I imagine touching you like this,” he rubs his hands down your thighs and reaches up to pinch your nipples. “I imagine kissing you here,” he kisses your inner thigh, “and here,” he kisses you so close to where you need him the most and you quiver. He grabs your hand and pushes your fingers into his mouth. Your eyes widen and he smirks. “You taste good.”

You nearly cum just from seeing and hearing that.

“I imagine doing this.” He lowers his head and licks a gentle stripe up your pussy. Your thighs snap around his head and he pushes them back open.

“Relax sweetheart, let me make you feel good.” he says before delving into you. Your back arches off the bed right away and your fingers find his hair. Goddamn he’s good.

He circles his tongue on your clit, hungrily but still gently.

“Fuck,” you exhale and he smiles.

He pushes a finger into you with ease and soon adds another. You roll your hips against his tongue as his fingers pump in and out of you. You whimper as the overwhelming pleasure runs through your body.

“Oh my god,” you squeak as your legs begin to shake. Already? You think.

His fingers stay at a steady pace as he messily sucks on your clit. You tug at his hair and he moans into you.

“Please don’t stop.” you beg and he obeys.

Your hips begin to lift off the mattress and he pins you down, keeping you in place. Your orgasm pours through you like sweet syrup, leaving you trembling under him.

He comes up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself. You wipe your juices off his chin with your thumb then lick it off.

He watches you in awe. “God you’re hot.”

You pull his hoodie over his head and push him onto his back. Your fingers trace his shoulders, then his waist, and every muscle on his torso. You kiss him down to the band of his sweats before pulling them down along with his Calvins.

His cock springs up and hits his lower stomach. You slowly kiss up his shaft then waste no time getting him in your mouth. He hisses and caresses your hair.

He hits the back of your throat every time you bob your head but you don’t care. His head drops back with a tempting moan.

“Fuck you’re good.” he says with a small smile.

You stroke the inches you can’t reach with your hand.

You wish you could imprint this image of him in your mind: his head lulling back, his adam's apple bobbing every time he swallows, his brows furrowing, his mouth parting open. You’re almost tempted to take a photo.

You take him all the way into your throat and swallow around him. The moan he lets out sounds better than a song.

You look up at him and watch him rake his hand through his hair. His abs contract every time you come down on him.

“Just like that,” he purrs, sending heat straight to your core.

You feel so dirty with your spit dripping down your chin but at the same time, it feels so good.

“Such a good girl,” he coos. “Sucking this cock so well.”

You nod at him and he smiles.

“Come here,” he pulls you into a position where he can reach you better and squeezes your ass. He tenderly traces his fingers down your spine before slowly pushing two fingers into you. You whine on his cock and he smirks.

“Still so wet.” he says while slightly curling his fingers, you jolt and he chuckles. “Feels good huh?”

You nod and he pets your hair. “Keep going, that’s it.”

His fingers pick up the pace as your sucking and licking becomes more sloppy.

His moans become more desperate and when he expects you to pull off you keep your head down, taking his cum down your throat.

“Did you just swallow?” he asks you, still breathing heavy.

You nod with a smile and he pulls you into a passionate kiss.

He flips you onto your back, eagerly kissing down your body before lining himself up with your entrance.

“Fuck me please,” you exhale and he smiles.

“Of course,” he pushes into you and you whine from the feeling. He stretches you out just right. “God you have good pussy.” he moans and you giggle.

He leans down to kiss you and you whimper into his mouth.

“Don’t stop,” you plead and he kisses your neck, sucking and nibbling to leave a hickey. “People are gonna see.” you say and he smiles.

“That’s the point.” he says. "Don’t you want people to know how good you are for me?”

You blush and nod.

“Give me one too sweetheart.” he says softly while leaning over you.

You rub up and down his sides while gently biting and licking at his neck, leaving a pretty red blush on his neck.

His fingers trail down to circle your clit while grinding his hips into yours. Your eyes roll back as he does so and he smiles. He can’t stop thinking about how captivating you are. He can’t take his eyes off you. Which gives him an idea.

He grabs your jaw and turns it to the mirror next to your bed. “Look at yourself.” he says.

Your heartbeat quickens, not used to seeing yourself in this state.

“Look how good you take it.” he says and you can’t deny it, you look hot as fuck.

He looks at you watching his cock disappear in and out of your cunt. You drag your hands over your waist and go to roll your nipples between your fingers.

His fingers are so slick on your clit from your juices and everything feels so good that you can’t really believe it.

He grabs onto the headboard for leverage and he looks so fucking good like this. Ever since he turned your head to the mirror, you can’t look away. You only turn to face him when your legs begin to shake and the fire in your stomach starts to dance.

“Please don’t stop,” you say with sparkling eyes. “I’m close.”

“Cum for me sweetheart,” he says right by your ear. “Be good.”

That alone sends you over the edge.

You’re back arches and your eyes roll back as your orgasm surges through you. He moans into your neck as he releases into you. You’re still pulsing around him when he finishes.

He kisses your cheeks as you come down for your high. “You did so well princess.”

You can’t help but cling to him and he chuckles. “I have to pull out of you eventually.”

“I like the way you feel.” you whine and he smiles.

You opt to cock warm him. He lays on his back and pulls you on top to straddle him. He gently pushes into you as you lay on his chest and enjoy the feeling.

He strokes your back and kisses your shoulder for a bit before he starts to subdtley thrust up into you.

You give him a look and he smiles at you sheepishly. “Wanna go again?”

#Heeseung smut #enhypen smut #Kpop smut

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flyinglotus777 · 3 years

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Netflix’s Squid Game

SPOILER ALERT! If you are interested in watching the series, I HIGHLY suggest you do so. This article will be an overall synopsis and my review of the show. For an in-depth analysis of the symbolism of the show and ending, scroll down to the fourth to last paragraph.

The Netflix show, “Squid Game,” written and directed by Hwang Dong-hyuk is a phenomenal Korean drama centered around our victor, Seong Gi-hun, played by Lee Jung-jae. Contestants were recruited to play in a life or death competition due to their lack of luck, financial knowledge, and influx of impending debt they have accumulated throughout their lives. We first meet Gi-hun as he is down on his luck. Living with his elderly, overworked mother (which in countries outside of the United States is not strange nor uncommon) Gi-hun was a friend to gambling, but that toxic love caused him to be in debt to a gang of (what seemed to be) loan sharks. When luck finally strikes him on the race track, life simultaneously decides to take an excrement on his reality. His debt seekers catch him on his hot streak and involuntarily sign him up to be a participant in the Squid Game.

Similar to many other of the 456 participants, they all shared a common denominator of being in situations it seemed only money could fix. Upon arrival the contestants were asked to voluntarily sign wavers in order to participate in the game, while unknowingly risking their lives, for the opportunity to win 456 billion won (which would be roughly over $3.5 million in US currency). The challenges were mostly based on nostalgic childhood games, both based in the United States and South Korea.

Now I knew due to the explanation in the introduction of episode one that if any player were to lose, they would die. So during the first challenge of red light green light, when players were bulletly penalized for losing I was not surprised. After the game, the players decided to rally together and quit playing. The influence of the cash prize split the decision down the middle, leaving the old man, player 1, to be the final decision. To my surprise he actually chose to decline, freeing all of the players. During the voting, many players screamed at each other as to why they would choose to stay in the hell hole as other players responded that the outside world was not any better if not the same as the harsh environment they were already in. This reality struck many contestants as they returned back to their reality of debt, dependents, and for some bounty hunts, thus resulting in them returning to the game.

During the whole season, I was trying to find the purpose of these games. We knew why the participants felt motivated to play, but I wondered what was the purpose of having them fight for their lives in the first place. When the PlayStation faced soldiers forced the doctor (player 111) to dissect the bodies for organs to sell at the black market, at first I thought that it was what the original game maker wanted which I thought was genius. Soon to learn that it was actually a violation to a code of equality that was placed inside the arena applying to all of those who existed, soldiers and participants alike. Which struck me as odd due to the soldiers being able to tote guns and wear masks based on their own hierarchy and the participants being collectively isolated and given numbers as if it was a remake of the Stanford Prison experiment. Nonetheless many soldiers faced the same fate as the players, and my pondering would meet the solution come the finale.

Let’s discuss players. I only favored Gi-hun because he was the protagonist, but throughout the story he grew on me as his big heart prevailed through the madness. I knew Choo Sang-woo, the embezzling business man and hometown friend of Gi-hun played by Park Hae-soo, was a psychopath when I saw him in a fully filled bathtub with his suit on. Running from the police, in debt or not, that’s just as much of a red flag for serial killer tendencies as sleeping with socks on or having too thin and highly arched eyebrows. The episode that he crossed Ali, the father of one from Pakistan with the missing fingers, made me hate Sang-woo for the rest of the series. I was infuriated and frustrated with Ali for being that naïve to believe that they could escape the round as a duo, but understood his perspective since up until that point Sang-woo was a dependable, trusted ally to Ali. However after that episode I didn’t care who won, I was just ready for Sang-woo to die.

Kang Sae-byeok, the skeptical and beautiful warrior from North Korea played by Jung Ho-yeon, deserves her own paragraph. Along with her beauty, her presence and demeanor was so bad ass. She was thrifty and intelligent, as her talent being pick pocketing. I was waiting for her to just be so bad ass. As the punk disguised to be gangster, Jang Deok-su, pushed her around which seemed to be normal behavior between the two, I was ready for Sae-byeok to twist his arm, send a plunging round house kick to his nuts, and cut his snake tattoo right off of his face. Although her exterior was tough, her heart was made of malleable gold which we got to see as she opened up to her female companion during the marble challenge and sobbed from her loss afterwards. Although she was not the killer bad ass queen I had wanted her to be, I still call her a warrior because of her resiliency throughout life’s and the game’s many obstacles and her drive to provide her younger brother with a better life.

Thankfully Deok-su got what he deserved as Han Mi-nyeo poetically decided to take both of their lives during the glass challenge. “You said we would be together till the end,” she said before diving into her inevitable death with her short lived lover. Mi-nyeo was incredibly annoying as I would often pinch the inside corners of my eyes and scratch my eyebrows when she would appear. However that crazy bitch served justice, and I love her for that.

I was highly disappointed by the demise of the detective Hwang Jun-ho, played by the handsome Wi Ha-joon. I was rooting for detective Jun-ho, as I’m sure we all were, on his pursuit to find his brother. I was not surprised that his brother was Front Man, as I had suspected that his brother must’ve died or been apart of the game making due to his absence in real life and the current game. After discovering his brother was the victor of his year, to me it only made sense that he would be apart of the game enforcement. As we saw from Gi-hun, a normal life is impossible to live after experiencing something so traumatic as a series of death ridden children games. However I was saddened and surprised that detective Jun-ho was unsuccessful in closing down the whole operation. I mean the man was close to performing forced, aristocratic fellatio in the name of serving and protecting the law. I truly thought because he had gotten so far and was so close to exposing the operation that the only choice he had was to be successful. At last he was shot and killed by his own blood, the one he had been looking for; providing us with a cinematic and heart jerking ending to detective Jun-ho.

Lastly lets discuss the old man, player 001 named O Yeong-su, whom I also nicknamed Poppy during the series. Deceivingly innocent and weak, I genuinely liked Yeong-su throughout the game play. I thoroughly enjoyed his relationship with Gi-hun and saw him as a valuable player in most instances. I believe he was one of the main reasons that Gi-hun continued to lead with his heart. Gi-hun claimed that Yeong-su was the reason he returned to the games and later found out that Yeong-su was the reason there were games in the first place. The climatic episode of the marble challenge was when their relationship had been defined as “gganbu” (which is a term for trusted, close friends in Korean, as explained in the series), thus Yeong-su establishing a special place in Gi-hun’s heart. During the challenge, Yeong-su begins to have an episode of what we all assumed to be dementia as the arena they are playing in is designed like his old neighborhood and he abandons the game to take a trip down memory lane. Gi-hun screams in frustration at the old man to play with him only to end up losing in their even and odd game and resulting in deceit, tricking the old man to let him be the victor. Now if I was Gi-hun, I would’ve convinced Yeong-su to let me hold his marbles for safe keeping and let him have a fun time reminiscing on his life while he ran down the clock. Then when it was time, I would’ve turned in all 20 marbles just as Sang-woo did and went about my business. It would’ve only been right for the old man to forfeit as he was already on his death bed, or so we innocently thought. Before I get into the ending, I want to talk about the last match between Sang-woo and Gi-hun.

Finally, the last game to see who would be victorious in a highly anticipated game of Squid between Gi-hun and Sang-woo. It seemed as if it were a battle between good vs evil; Gi-hun representing a more benevolent side as he would often optimistically look to help other competitors and extend the kindness he had been shown versus Sang-woo who represented a more vindictive and ruthless side, determined to hurt anyone in order to receive his highly coveted and long awaited prize in an arena that erased any foundation of morals or ethics as soon as the light turned red. Luck was on Gi-hun’s side as he had the opportunity to play offense. With a cunning mind and a vengeance for Sae-byeok’s death, Gi-hun delivered a can of whoop ass to his opponent. As the saying goes, the good shall always prevail. Perhaps his heart was too pure as Gi-hun halted from crossing the finish line and offered Sang-woo a chance to live, thus forfeiting the prize money. Needless to say, I applauded when Sang-woo committed suicide as it was the only right thing to do in his position.

A year passed by and Gi-hun seemed worse than before. Physically his style was bummy wealthy, a look pioneered by Bill Gates, but mentally he was in shambles. How could you blame him? Gi-hun discovered that the responsible party for these horrendous events was none other than his ggangbu, old man Yeong-su. The biggest, jaw dropping plot twist of the entire series. As they were joined on Christmas Eve and Yeong-su on his death bed, they placed one final bet on an assumed to be drunken, homeless man who sat on the streets as it snowed and waited for help to arrive. Yeong-su explained how he actually wanted to help people and give his money to people who needed it, but wanted to do it in an “entertaining way.” As Gi-hun flared with outrage towards the old man for finding amusement in killing people, the old man rebutted using horse races as an example of people’s amusement. Yeong-su also said he participated in the games because it was more fun to play than to be a spectator, which I had noticed him treating the competition as if it were adult summer camp. I had just assumed since he was old, he didn’t care if he had died or not.

I think most people will think that this show was a metaphor about how money and rich people are evil. However I think it can be seen as commentary on society as a whole, not just the wealthy. Yeong-su says on his death bed that it’s a test of humanity, and asks Gi-hun if he still has faith in humanity after what he has experienced. Although money was the luring motivator to win the game, people still chose to return to the competition to escape their problems. Sure, money was apart of their problems as all of the players (excluding Yeong-su) were in debt, but that was due to choices that they had made. Whether it had been through embezzling, gambling, lack of luck, or financial ignorance, it was the people who had gotten themselves into those situations. Money doesn’t have a personal vendetta against anyone nor does it have an inherent quality of good or evil. Money is a neutral energy used to be exchanged for goods and services. It’s people who designate that energy to their humane or inhumane desires.

Leading to the next point of the wealthy and how they are seen to be evil due to having wealth. Although I do believe that there are some wealthy people who act as villains, money didn’t create the villain inside of them. Those people were going to behave maliciously whether they have money or not. The VIPs, who were spectating the finale of challenges, were tied to a bank devoted to the wealthy and gambled on the competitors who played (and most likely helped subsidize the events). We place judgement on them, but as Yeong-su said, people gamble on horse races. Although people are not animals and by my knowledge I don’t believe most or any horses die during these races, it is still the principle of watching an entity being tortured for amusement, which is not only confined to the wealthy population. When the concept of killing and tormenting living breathing beings for amusement is normalized within society, the lines begin to blur on who is okay to perform and who is not. Take the audience of this show for example, we all watched a show where hundreds of people were mercilessly killed for the desire of winning a cash prize for our own amusement, thus making “Squid Game” the number one show on Netflix at the moment. Although the show is fictional and brilliantly written, this Hunger Games concept is not new. We come in contact again and again with the idea of people who are disadvantaged given an opportunity to better their lives through inhumane means, including risking their own lives or actively sacrificing the life of another, and being spectators on the edge of our seats who can’t seem to look away. It is no different than a Roman gladiator match in a grand colosseum, which in modern day would be a MMA fight at the MGM hotel. We blame it on the rich who are ridiculed for creating these events, but at the end of the day it is the people, rich,poor, and everyone in between, who continue to still go along with it and to some extent desire it. Which makes me question, what does that say about humanity, and do I actually have faith in us? Although Gi-hun went through hell and back, he still remained pure of heart and used his wealth to enhance his life and those around him; proving that wealthy people can still be benevolent and desire righteous good. Similar to Gi-hun, the optimist in me wants to believe that there are still people in this world with good hearts, but I guess we just have to wait until the time comes to see.

Ultimately the show was phenomenal, and definitely sparked a desire inside of me to watch more Korean dramas. I don’t think the show will have a second season. Simply because I think the story line would be better cut off there, thus leaving the audience always wanting more. However if season 2 ever comes out, I’m ready for Gi-hun to take a Liam Neeson approach to ending the Squid Game and hopefully with a beard. Thank you for reading my article. I know it was incredibly lengthy. I have just finished the season after a 2 day binge watch, and have a lot of emotions and thoughts ruminating in my brain. Let me know what you think of the show and what you think of the article. Did anyone else notice the paintings of the games on the walls of the dormitory?

God bless.

#squid game #netflix #review #korean drama #kdrama #series review #web series

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dashedwithromance · 3 years

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Secret Moments In A Crowded Room - Princewitch

okay so DISCLAIMER im scared to post this because we’ve never really seen romantic wrath before so idk if people might think this is OOC but i wanted princewitch fluff desperately and cant wait til october. inspired by the teaser quote she released yesterday and ‘dress’ by taylor swift

The ball raged on around her, dancers swirling around impossibly fast, flashes of fabric catching the light of the serpent scones. On and on, all without her. Her husband sat to her right on his larger throne, staring into nothing. They had exchanged all of five words that evening.

She did not blame her husband for his coldness, not truly. If their positions were switched, and she had been forced to marry a random demon while still loving and grieving her murdered spouse, she doubted whether she would even manage civility. Pride continued his business, barely taking notice of his young wife, and she was glad, of that, at least. If he’d wanted her... a shudder snaked down her spine, curling in her gut. Her mind still echoed with the unnatural violation of Lust’s magic, and the thought of another demon prince perusing her like that was foul. There was only one prince she wanted, and his sin was wrath.

Dancing in Hell was nothing like she’d seen on the streets of Palermo. Nothing like the carefree dancing of Vittoria, so full of light and life and love that nothing seemed to touch her. Here, movements entwined with danger, every dance a flirtation with living death. People danced with weapons, exchanging daggers and rondels and rapiers like secret lovers. Jewelled garrottes hung around every neck, poisonous pearls glittering in various ornate hairstyles. An unholy masquerade indeed.

Her own mask was a fine decoration of gold and jewels. Metallic serpents entwined across the mosaic-like surface, darker cracks embedded across it. The mask had arrived one evening at her rooms, wrapped in luscious velvet. No letter accompanied it, the only sign of the sender being a golden snake that slithered up her arm before dissolving into sparks. The decoration matched her dress, a similar mosaic of black silk, lace, and golden serpents. Truly befitting a queen.

Fury burned through her as she watched the revellers pass her by. They danced without a care, members of the seven houses intermingling freely. She wanted to scream and shatter the very throne she sat on. How dare they dance as if mere months ago, one of their own had not been taking the hearts of witches? As if she did not sit on a dead witch’s throne? A witch who still had not found justice, who’s body had been ripped to shreds in the cruellest way imaginable?

“Careful, little queen.” Pride’s voice rumbled in her ear. He still did not look at her, but leaned closer to whisper, “Lest the people learn your ungrateful thoughts.”

Closing her eyes to avoid murdering the demon she’d married, she took a deep breath. The air smelt like fire and spirits and the sweat of colliding bodies. Suddenly, the sight of it all disgusted her. The dancing, the drinking, the living, all of it. Selfish, she knew – others were allowed to live despite Vittoria being denied the very same. But she couldn’t help it. She longed for nothing more than her sister to live, even if it meant sacrificing her life to the demon beside her. There was nothing to be done, however. Her sister was lost forever.

The night dwindled on, interrupted by the occasional violent thought towards her situation. Though, as contrary as it sounded, not all was dark about her time in Hell. She had one bright spot, one flame in the dark. Something she kept locked against her chest for fear of discovery.

Casting her eye across the room, she caught the gaze of the hidden secret. Prince Wrath leaned against the wall from across the room, his eyes flickering as they locked with hers. He was dressed in a sinfully beautiful suit, a pattern of golden serpents slithering up the fabric from the floor. The snakes seemed alive in the firelight. Perhaps they were. A smug sense of satisfaction ebbed through her when she realised they matched. No one else would notice – serpents weren’t exactly an uncommon motif in Hell – but they knew, and it was comfort enough. With a movement, so small she nearly missed it, he tilted his head towards the exit.

A thrill raced through her, paired with genuine, loving excitement. They had not been alone in much too long.

Things had not always been so relaxed between her and the prince of Wrath. Her first few weeks in Hell had been spent furiously glaring in his direction. He’d given her the ultimate cold shoulder until she’d nearly burned from it. She’d been full of fury at his leaving her – at the humiliation she felt from having the human audacity to trust a demon. One day, when they crossed each other in a hallway heading to court, her temper had bubbled to boiling.

She remembered yanking him into a nearby room – he let her, she realised now – and yelled at him for the cruelty of leaving her alone. Of giving her hope and wrenching it away, like a child suddenly filled with jealously over a shared toy.

The sheer incredulity on his face was the first indication she was mistaken. He laughed, a sardonic sound coated in disbelief.

“I left you?” His voice was low. The walls around them seemed to thrum in response to his deadly power.

“I left you?” He repeated, “I gave you all the tools to summon me, witch, and you refused. Too good for my help, perhaps. I have no more responsibilities to you. Our deal is done.”

Wrath turned to leave, but by some miracle, she managed to dart in front of him. Her body was pressed against the door, the cold stone mixing with the heat she felt roaring off him. Emilia should’ve been afraid, should’ve been trembling in her gifted boots at the sight of him, but she wasn’t. Why, she couldn’t quite tell.

His gaze burned into hers, but her own was just as powerful.

“I tried everything to summon you after what Envy did, and you didn’t come.” She hissed. The wrath of a prince was one thing, but hell hath no fury like a witch scorned. “You left me. I was foolish enough to believe you would ca- that you would come for me once, but I will not be fooled twice.”

The look he gave her was indiscernible. Equal parts rage mixed with... something lighter. If anyone else looked at her like that, she would’ve described it as hopeful. But demons did not hope, no more than they loved.

He was scanning her face with the focus of a battle-hardened warrior. Whatever it was he found made him take a step back.

“What did you do wrong?” He muttered, almost to himself.

“I did nothing wrong,” She couldn’t help but fire back, “I did everything correctly – even used the ring you left for me in the drawer.”

At that, he stilled. Stilled and stopped breathing entirely.

Then, as if talking to someone who’d sustained a head injury, he said, “I didn’t leave you a ring. I left you my house seal, solid gold, of course, but no ring.” He went on to describe where he’d left it – the top drawer beside her bed – but she already knew.

The conclusion settled in her stomach like a stone. Another feeling, one she didn’t let herself scrutinise, unfurled within her.

“Someone didn’t want me to summon you.”

“Close. Someone wanted you to think I wouldn’t come.”

A question hung in the air, so loud neither could bring themselves to give it voice.

Would you have come, Prince Wrath? Would you have come to my aid when I needed you most? When I needed to know you were alright?

Keeping those treacherous thoughts under lock and key, she focused on another facet of the curious mystery.

“Who would it benefit? And who would’ve known what to switch – the house was warded, was it not?”

Silence from her princely counterpart.

“Would the wards collapse with your ‘death’?”

The look on his face told her all she needed to know. Someone had stolen into the house and replaced the seal with a ring to deliberately throw off their efforts. Which meant-

He hadn’t abandoned her at all. Given her the cold shoulder, yes, when he believed she’d forgotten all about him.

What a hellish mess this all was.

From that moment on, the demon and the witch had become begrudging allies once more. Wrath had been furious one of his brothers would dare interfere with his affairs, and she needed an ally, desperately. While it rubbed against her pride to accept help, she knew it would’ve been foolish to refuse. She would be a vengeful queen, but even queens needed council.

Their alliance had turned to friendship, then burst into royal flames as they look the leap to lovers. In the candlelight of a stolen moment, Wrath had held her with more care than she’d known possible. Still Wrath, still echoing that immense power of his, but softer, somehow. Not gentle, not truly, but tender. It was not love, but it was fire and anger and care all pieced together in a ball of desire.

Which led her to that moment, as she stole away from her husband’s masquerade ball. She had stayed long enough, and the party celebrated nothing of importance. Rather a show of unity between her and Pride, a display of wealth and power.

As she left the throne room she realised she had no idea where her prince had gone. Back to his rooms? No, they avoided meeting there. Being caught together in casual rooms could be explained away as strategic briefings, but being caught in the bedroom of her husband’s brother... did not leave for much escape room.

Just as she was about to curse his name, a snake slithered around her ankle, causing her to start. Was that Wrath’s laugh, she heard? Looking to her feet, the snake stared back up at her, its golden eyes winking in the candlelight of the hallway.

Of course. Wrath and his dramatics.

The snake made its way down the hallway, keeping close to the wall to be inconspicuous. It led her to an offshoot of the main hallway, then came to a halt at the final door. The serpent dissolved into golden sparks as they reached their destination. She knocked quietly before letting herself in.

Wrath lay stretched out across a dark velvet lounge, watching her entrance. His mask dangled lazily from his fingers, the ribbon used to tie it brushing across the floor. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway, a toned chest peeking out from the fabric.

Deadly, dangerously beautiful.

And hers.

“You look exquisite,” He strode across the room before taking her in his arms. His hands quickly untied her mask before tossing it to the floor with haste. He took in her form for a moment, then tilted his face down to capture her lips with his own.

No matter how many moments they stole, it was never enough.

His kiss was liquid fire igniting the flame of her desire. One hand rested against her back, with the other cupping her face. She gasped against his mouth, revelling in how desperately hard his body felt against hers. Greedy hands slipped up his chest to unbutton the rest of his shirt. Pulling the material away, Emilia broke the kiss for a single second to gaze at her lover.

Smooth, tanned skin met her eyes, followed by a swift appreciation of the hard strength that lay beneath his trousers. He laughed as he caught her gaze, knowing exactly what she was admiring.

He kissed her again, this time grabbing the backs of her thighs and lifting her up. Her legs wrapped around his waist. The taste of him- Taste was her speciality, but there were no words to describe how perfectly Wrath kissed her.

After too long and never long enough, the lovers parted for breath. He still held her against his chest. In this position, she was the perfect height to rest her head in the crook of his neck. Their breathing echoed through the room in perfect harmony.

She could feel every rise and fall of his powerful, tattooed chest. Such lethal power contained within his body, yet he held her with all the tenderness the world could offer.

“You know,” He mused, “We never got to dance.”

“Are you asking?” A sly smile in his direction.

“Yes. Witch, will you dance with me.” He said witch the way men said love. She looked down at him, grinning.

“No. I can’t dance.”

He laughed. Such a bright sound for one bathed in darkness.

“Liar.”

“Fine. I don’t dance, because I’m awful at it.”

A teasing hand ran down her back.

“I’ll teach you.” At her raised brows, he continued with, “A queen must use every skill in her arsenal.”

Lowering her to the ground, he held out his hands for her to grasp.

“Place your right hand in mine, and left against my shoulder.” Even through the fabric of his shirt, she could feel the heat roaring off him. When she did as he instructed, he pulled their bodies together until not even an inch separated them. Emilia was fairly certain this wasn’t part of the dance, but she wasn’t going to interrupt. She quite liked this position, pressed against the prince of Wrath, his breath rustling her hair. His hand settled against her spine.

“This next bit is the most important, do you hear? It is crucial even that beginners like yourself get this right.” He teased, and she scowled back at him, though they both knew it was merely in jest.

“Tilt your chin up so you can gaze adoringly into my eyes.” He grinned down her scowl. “I want you to focus on how handsome I am, how talented, and forget everything else. Except how much you want to kiss me.”

She couldn’t help herself, she laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Perhaps.” His voice turned low and seductive as his hand slid down her spine, drawing her a little closer. “But you’re waltzing like a goddess now.” As he spoke, they started to move. Slowly, he stepped back and followed. To the side, and she followed again. On and on, their little box pattern continued, until Wrath picked up the paced and spun her around.

A gasp left her lips at the movement, but before she could overthink and stumble, he caught her once more with a smile.

“Who are you, and what have you done with the moodiest prince of Hell?”

He shook his head at her words, huffing a laugh as he did. She felt the truth bloom in his chest, he didn’t have to say it. These borrowed moments, these secret trysts... it was happiness, rare as it was, that fluttered between them. They both knew it couldn’t last, but for now, it was real. In that moment, it was all that mattered.

“Teasing witch,” He murmured, and kissed her. Kissed her as if they were not members of two rival houses, as if she was not an unwilling wife to his bastardly brother, as if there were not a chasm of reasons to keep them apart. Tomorrow would bring hellfire, and perhaps regret, but tonight was theirs.

They kissed until night dwindled away into day, and their secret was no longer safe. With the promise of “soon” and an unspoken “I miss you”, Wrath kissed her once more before exiting her side.

The queen of Hell picked up her mask from where it had been tossed across the floor, and stood still for a moment, taking a deep breath. The moment had passed, and she was no longer just Emilia, a powerhouse in her own right, and friend and lover of Wrath’s.

She was the Wicked Kingdom’s vengeful queen, and she would find her happiness once more, or burn the world trying.

let me know if you wanted to be added to my KOTW tag list!

tags: @shadowturtlesstuff @otome-azarada @chococannolii @beccalovesbooksstuff @duchess-of-nothing-and-nowhere @caseyannblog @constantwriter85 @fleawithadegree @athousandsilversuns @emiliadicarlos @silversublime @watch-the-pen @sleeping-and-books @demirunner

#princewitch #kingdom of the cursed #kingdom of the wicked #emilia di carlo #prince wrath #is this accurate almost certainly not #also i read kotw in september so i have no memory of the little things #wrath: a fucking softie #emilia: full of rage #pride: still in mourning #(dick: OUT)

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waywardrose · 7 months

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THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 22

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

5.1k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs

fem/witch/goth!reader, sweetheart!eddie, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, consensual pursuit and capture, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, blood, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, running away, guns, fist fighting, tags will be updated as needed

note: Things are looking up? Kinda? 🥳?

The overhead lighting of the hospital’s waiting room hurt your working right eye. The ER doctor said your left cornea looked burned, yet it didn’t respond like a burn. He’d thought it odd you retained your eyelashes.

Naturally, you hadn’t explained you’d been hit by a dark wizard’s curse.

The doctor had also thought your heart sounded odd. Of course it did, you wanted to say. It had been still for too long. In that time, the fourth gate opened and the earth split. The fissure started under you and snaked through the Creel house, burning Jason Carver alive.

Erica had pulled your lax body away before the fissure burned you, too.

You’d fallen into life with a gasp, eyes opening for the first time since the long silence. You flailed to drag yourself off the bloody thorns. They hadn’t been there. You latched onto Erica’s arms. Her energy swirled in a confusing vortex of green and gold, red and black. She’d said something to you in a panic, yet you couldn’t parse the meaning.

The attic behind her had been lit in blue and orange — the colors of fire.

You hadn’t been able to see Lucas or Max, though you could feel them. Something was wrong. You turned your head in their direction. Lucas held a limp Max in his lap and wept. Max’s arm hung at all the wrong angles.

You saw the side of your nose and realized your vision had been halved. The Veil of Undeath was gone. You’d exposed yourself and protected Max from Vecna.

If that were the case, why wasn’t she conscious?

“We need a hospital!” cried Lucas.

Hospital. Yes. Injured Max. You had a car.

You’d flopped to your side. The fissure’s heat blasted your face. The mob returned your screams tenfold. Their faces expressionless, mouths open and eyes seared. The ground trembled before you soared into the air— Erica pulled you away by the shoulder and arm.

Your voice sounded scoured when you said, “Keys.”

“You can’t drive,” she said.

“I’ll be okay.” You met her eyes. “We’ll be okay.”

She’d looked as if preparing for an argument.

You put a hand on her forearm.

“I can do it.”

There was no alternative. Out of the four of you, three were conscious and only one knew how to drive. Furthermore, if the four gates were open, the fissures had affected hundreds. Ambulances had already been dispatched. Your car was the best option.

She’d helped you lurch to your feet. You swayed for a second, your body not knowing what to do. It had been lifeless for too long.

You couldn’t recall much of the drive to the hospital. Lucas sat in the back with Max. Erica gripped the dashboard and gave directions. You covered your cursed eye to help you focus on dodging fleeing wildlife and hysterical drivers. Then you were parking under the porte cochere for the emergency room. Staff rushed out, stabilized Max on a board, and retreated with her into the hospital.

The nurses conducting triage in the waiting room had insisted you and Lucas be examined.

Your tending doctor wanted to admit you to run tests on your heart and call in an eye specialist, but you couldn’t be confined to a hospital bed when the rest of the party — Eddie — was still out there. They might need help. So, you refused further treatment, saying you’d make an appointment with your regular doctor because you felt fine.

You did not feel fine.

The stressed staff hadn’t argued. A nurse taped a pressure patch over your eye and gave you one with a strap for later. She examined the lump on your head and the bruise on your jaw. She gave you a cold pack, recommending rest and painkillers. You pressed the cold pack to your head, but it hardly dulled the bombardment happening inside your skull.

Before you left the ER, the same nurse handed you a print-out with care instructions. You’d folded the print-out without reading it and stuffed it in your purse.

Lucas stood at the check-in desk, talking with the clerk. He held a cold pack to his eye with a bandaged hand. You came up beside him and offered a soft “hey.” The corners of his mouth lifted when he looked at you.

The clerk ended their call with a sigh.

“There are no new developments with Miss Mayfield. She’s in Orthopedics and set for surgery within the hour.”

You asked, “Is she awake?”

The clerk glanced between you and Lucas.

“I’m sorry, but no.”

Lucas’s face fell. You took his uninjured hand, thanked the clerk, and led him away from the check-in desk. His fingers curled around your hand. You could offer no other comfort beyond it. Assurances or promises would be hollow.

“They called our parents,” he said.

You nodded. When you’d checked in for treatment, the staff demanded your insurance card and parents’ phone number. They hadn’t said anything about it afterward.

“Did they get through?” you asked.

“I don’t know. Probably.”

“I think I’ve got some quarters, if you want to try.”

Erica leaned against a wall in the waiting room, walkie bandoliered across her chest. Lucas stood next to her as you riffled in your purse for change. After handing over a few quarters, you took Lucas’s place and propped your pounding head on the wall.

Lucas returned a couple of minutes later, face grim. You straightened and swallowed around a dry throat.

“Got the answering machine.”

“They’re on their way, then,” said Erica.

He slumped beside her.

“I can’t leave Max.”

“Mom and Dad won’t understand. We can come back tomorrow.”

You said, “I can pick you up in the morning.”

The walkie crackled to life before he could reply. You jolted, which made you wince. Lucas turned to her as a sound like a word sputtered through the speaker. Erica extended the walkie’s antenna.

“Repeat, over,” she said.

“Ohmygod! We’re on our way to the hospital! Ohmygod, ohmygod!” said a female voice. “Over!”

Erica’s eyes went wide. You met her gaze before looking at the walkie.

“We’re there now. ETA? Over.”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!”

The walkie went silent for a breathless second.

Another female voice, this one more restrained, said, “ETA ten minutes. Over.”

“Roger that. Over and out.”

Lucas jogged to the check-in desk. Erica retracted the antenna and followed him. You trailed behind, ready to back them up. The clerk believed them, though, and ordered a stretcher for an incoming case. Erica said they were probably coming in a RV. The clerk nodded, adding the porte cochere be cleared.

You went outside to wait. Lucas and Erica joined you. The wine-dark sky appeared flat. In the distance, a fissure glowed orange like hot iron.

The first female voice on the walkie had to have been Robin. The second Nancy. It stood to reason they were fine. That left Steve, Dustin, or — you closed your eye — Eddie.

“You okay?” asked Lucas.

“Yeah, just… My head hurts.”

You thought you might throw up from the idea of Eddie wounded. Or maybe that was just the head trauma.

You turned the cold pack over and pressed the cooler side to your nape. A shiver rolled down your spine. Goosebumps prickled your skin. Both distracted you from the nausea.

Tires squealed, sounding panicked. A big engine chugged at the side of the building. The energy from inside in the vehicle flashed red to orange and back again, sparking yellow.

You opened your eye.

“That’s them.”

You pressed against the building as the RV careened around the corner. Nancy sat behind the wheel. At this distance, you couldn’t read her expression, but you doubted she was laughing.

The emergency team conferred with each other as the RV skidded to a stop. They didn’t wait for anyone inside to open the door. They climbed into the dim interior. More lights flicked on. Voices blurred together.

You wanted to look, wanted someone to tell you who was hurt. Someone pull you out of this hellish unknowing.

From inside, a commanding voice said, “Alright, let’s go!”

You glimpsed wavy brown hair between the team’s arms.

You’d heard of one’s stomach dropping, but you’d never experienced it. Stomach swooping, absolutely, gut tightening, yes, even the proverbial gut punch. But not this. Your stomach was suddenly lead. You couldn’t move. Everything was too heavy.

Each blink of your eye gave you a fresh horror. Blood-splattered leather. Ripped green canvas. Tangled hair. Waxen skin.

You wouldn’t let that be the last you saw of Eddie. You put a hand on the nearest wall and dragged one foot in front of the other. Gathering momentum, you followed the team inside. You passed the check-in desk, dodged wheelchairs and orderlies. Your vision narrowed to the dirty soles of Eddie’s boots.

The team slammed opened a set of double doors. Their mouths formed words, yet no sound came. You caught one of the closing doors. Hands clamped onto your shoulders. Another gripped your upper arm. You jerked out of their hold, but they caught you once more.

You looked left, forgetting the eye patch. You looked right. An orderly said something, but the volume of their voice had been turned too low. They hauled you away from the doors. You clawed for the narrowing gap between the doors — between you and Eddie.

“Let me go!”

The hands left your shoulders and arm. Your ears filled with static. The orderlies stumbled back. The ache in your head dissipated like storm clouds breaking apart. Like clouds changing from heavy gray to gilded white. Just like that first sunset after your magic had manifested. Like a miracle, the evening sky had transformed to mauve and marigold.

You wheeled around, eye wide and fingers tingling. Your powers — or part of them — had returned. The apology you issued to the orderlies sounded as if through water.

The hospital’s corridors blurred as you raced outside. Vecna couldn’t hold on to your power. He was dying or terribly wounded. You needed air. You needed to tell the others about this. Besides, you couldn’t help Eddie if they barred you from visiting.

Outside, your senses cleared, like your ears popping after a change in altitude.

The RV was gone, though. Two empty ambulances had taken its place. Erica and Lucas were nowhere to be seen.

With half your vision gone, you had to turn your head now to see your surroundings. Erica caught your attention with a wave as she waited by the pay-phone a few yards away.

Approaching her, you asked, “Did they leave?”

“No, Nancy’s parking the RV. Everyone else is back here,” she said with a tilt of her head.

“I think they got Vecna.”

“How do you know?”

“I feel different.”

“Like witchy different?”

After you nodded, Erica led the way to a lit courtyard facing the parking lot. Dustin sat sideways on a bench, his right leg propped in front of himself. Steve squatted beside him and wiped at Dustin’s palms with a damp cloth. Lucas stood by Dustin, a supportive hand on his shoulder. Robin perched restlessly at the edge of the next bench.

Robin spotted you and Erica first. She stood, eyes going wide.

“Holy shit.”

Everyone’s focus turned to you and Erica.

Steve straightened, flipping the cloth onto his shoulder.

“What happened?”

Erica said, “She died,” while thumbing at you.

To her, you said, “I think I did a little more than that.”

“Everything was going to plan until Jason Carver showed up.”

“Yeah, Lucas told us that,” said Steve. “But then what?”

You swallowed and wet your lips.

“Jason broke Max’s tape-player during the fight, and there wasn’t time to get mine. So, I protected her as best as I could.”

Robin asked, “And you died?”

“Instead of Max,” Erica said before you could. “Her heart stopped. And a gate opened where she was lying.”

Lucas added, “Max hasn’t woken from Vecna’s curse, either.”

“Okay so, four of the party members are down or injured,” Robin said. “The mega-gate is open. We have no idea how to close it. Or how to kill the psycho wanting to come through it and destroy the world. And if what he showed Nancy is right, we’re all majorly screwed.”

“The fight isn’t over yet,” Nancy said, walking into the courtyard.

Steve nodded in agreement.

“Right—”

You held up a hand.

“Wait, so Vecna’s still alive?”

“Yeah, after Molotov-ing him, shooting him with multiple rounds, and him falling out of a third-story window.”

“I swear, he’s Rasputin,” said Robin.

“So where is he?”

Nancy asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why isn’t he here?” you asked. “Why hasn’t he come through the gate?”

If you were Vecna, you’d be relentless. No one would be ready for you. They’d be recuperating, and you’d catch them unprepared. You’d decimate them.

Nancy shrugged.

“He’s injured.”

Dustin cleared his throat.

“You’ve brought up some good points.”

Everyone turned to him.

“Vecna’s more than a dark wizard. He’s like a lich. Mortal means can’t kill him.”

Steve said, “Dude, your fantasy game isn’t real.”

“No, but undeath is real in both. Hence, there has to be some crossover.”

Lucas’s face scrunched as if to argue.

You nodded, though.

“The Veil of Undeath.”

“So?” said Lucas. “He’s an undead wizard. That doesn’t change the fact we can’t beat him.”

Dustin said, “Only like magic can defeat magic this powerful.”

“Well, El lost her powers and isn’t here—”

A female voice cut through the discussion.

“Lucas Charles Sinclair!”

Lucas cringed, shoulders hunching. Erica backed into the shadows as their mother stomped around the low hedges surrounding the courtyard. Their father accompanied her, eyes sharp but reticent.

“I see you, Erica Anne!”

Erica whispered, “Shit.”

“It’s after midnight! None of you should be out!”

As one of the elder members of the party, you wanted to apologize. After all, you’d kept a middle-schooler out during an apocalypse. And angry mothers were scary.

“But, Mom—”

“Lucas,” said their father in a disapproving tone. “Your mother’s right.”

She said, “We are going home. Right now.”

“But Max is hurt.”

“Are you a doctor, Lucas?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then you can’t do anything for her. You can come back tomorrow. And what happened to your face?!”

Lucas ducked his head.

“Jason Carver.”

“Ja-Jason Carver?! The team captain?”

“Not anymore,” said Erica, stepping around you.

You snorted and dipped your head to hide it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked their mother.

A petulant moue on his face, Lucas said, “Nothing, let’s just go home.”

She put an arm around Erica despite frowning at them. Then she pointed around at the group.

“The rest of you need to get home. Your parents are worried sick.”

Collectively, everyone replied, “Yes, ma’am.”

Their father asked, “Does anyone need a ride home?”

Between your car and the RV, rides were covered.

“No, sir.”

With a nod, he put a hand on Lucas’s shoulder to lead him to the parking lot.

“You kids be careful. Get home safe.”

“Night, guys,” said Lucas.

As the Sinclairs walked away, Nancy said, “I guess we should be getting home.”

You nodded, though you didn’t want to leave Eddie. Your parents were going to ream you a new one. You were supposed to be home hours ago.

Dustin called your name and swung his leg off the bench as an invitation. You stepped around Robin and Steve to sit next to him. The bloodstains on his clothes were black under the courtyard’s bluish light.

You asked, “What happened to your leg?”

“About that…”

Movement caught your attention. Nancy, Robin, and Steve shuffled out of the courtyard, giving you and Dustin privacy. You frowned at that and turned to Dustin, who took a deep breath.

“Everything was going as planned.” He gave you a small grin. “Eddie played ‘Master of Puppets’ to lure the bats.”

“How was it?”

Dustin’s grin morphed into a big smile.

“Awesome.”

You smiled with a nod. Eddie was so excited about the new album, said he’d been playing it nonstop. You opened your mouth to share that, but the miserable look on Dustin’s face stopped you. His eyes had gone dark with grief. You took his hand between your own.

You softly said, “It’s okay.”

He shook his head.

“We lured the bats just like we were supposed to. We sealed the trailer before, but we forgot about the ceiling vents.”

You nodded for him to continue.

“They broke through, but we fought them off. Then they found another one in Eddie’s room. He closed the door before they got farther.” He inhaled a stuttering breath. “Steve said we were only decoys. We were supposed to lure the bats and, if anything went south, to leave through the gate.”

“And you did that, right?”

“I did, but Eddie—” Dustin’s chin quivered as he gripped your hand.

“But Eddie—”

“Hey, it’s okay.”

He shook his head again.

“Eddie cut the sheet and ran out to keep the bats away.”

You dropped your head as your eyes welled with tears.

That fucking idiot. It should’ve been you in the Upside Down. Not Eddie — and certainly not Dustin. Vecna had stolen those bats from you. Perhaps you could’ve gained control of them to use against him. But, of course, you’d realized that too late.

“I…” Dustin swallowed, and you looked at him. “I jumped through and landed wrong.” He lifted his injured leg. “When I came out, the bats were swarming down the street.”

“Around Eddie.”

A single tear slipped down his round cheek as he bobbed his head.

“I tried to get to him, but I was too slow.”

You released his hand and put an arm around his back. He angled to you, resting his head on your shoulder. You squeezed him tighter in response.

“It’s—” Your voice cut out, but you needed him to hear this. “It’s not your fault.”

He scrubbed at his face. His shoulders stiffened as though about to disagree, but you wouldn’t hear it.

“No, Dustin, it’s not. It’s not your fault.” It was your turn to inhale a stuttering breath. “If you’d been out there with him, you’d be in the hospital, too.”

He sniffed.

“That’s not what Eddie would’ve wanted,” you said, a swirl of unidentifiable emotions making your chest strain.

His voice creaked as he said, “No, it wasn’t, but—”

“No.” You gave his shoulder a little shake. “None of this is your fault.”

Hurried footsteps raced in your direction. It was Mom. You looked up in time for her to shriek your full name. Dustin sat straight, like she’d caught him doing something naughty, and wiped under his eyes. Your father marched behind her, face thunderous.

Steve stood behind Robin and Nancy as if they were human shields.

“My God,” Mom said as she took you in. “What happened?”

“I was helping—”

“You shouldn’t have been out, young lady,” said your father.

“But I wanted to help.”

Your father harrumphed and eyed Dustin. “Who’s this?”

“This is Dustin Henderson. He’s a friend.”

“Isn’t he a little young to be your friend?”

“What? No?” you said while Dustin said, “I’m in high school.”

Mom waved a hand to dismiss that line of questioning and asked, “Where’s Heather? Weren’t you supposed to be studying with her?”

“I did. We were. She’s home. Now. I stayed behind.”

“To talk to Mr. Henderson here?” asked your father.

“Yes. He’s had a rough night.”

Mom’s face softened when Dustin turned the lost-and-harmless look up a notch.

“Of course,” she said before focusing on you. “And you, sweetie…”

She came to you and cradled your face. You winced at the pressure on your bruised jaw. She grimaced in apology.

“Oh, honey, let’s get you home. We’ll get some ice on that.” To Dustin, she asked, “Do you need a ride home?”

He glanced behind her before shaking his head.

“No, thank you.”

In the meantime, your father had noticed Nancy, Robin, and Steve. “Who’re you three?”

Nancy took control of the conversation, introducing herself and explaining in vague terms how you’d stepped in to protect children. She stroked his ego by saying he must’ve instilled that fortitude in you. Robin and Steve nodded in tandem. Your father appeared pacified, which was impressive. Nancy’s father must be a dick of the same caliber, or she was used to handling men who were.

“Well, uh…” He jingled the keys in his pocket. “We should be getting her home.”

“Of course, sir,” Nancy said.

You gave Dustin a hug and said you’d be at the hospital tomorrow. He nodded, hugging you back.

Your parents discussed logistics as you went to Nancy, Robin, and Steve to thank them for saving Eddie. If it hadn’t been for them, he would’ve died in the Upside Down. You’d never be able to repay them. When Eddie pulled through, you were sure he’d feel the same.

Nancy gave you a genuine, if awkward, grin when you took her hand in both of yours and thanked her.

She cast her pretty eyes down.

“I wish we’d been faster.”

“He’s in this dimension getting treatment, so…”

You shrugged as an ending to the sentence.

She nodded, then perked.

“I almost forgot.” She fished Eddie’s chain wallet from her vest. “We didn’t want him ID’ed.”

You bit your lip and agreed with a nod. He was being blamed for too much to be treated fairly. It was best for him to be a John Doe until he was conscious. You tucked the wallet in your purse.

Robin darted forward to hug you and said, “Sorry about your eye.”

“What’s an eye between friends, right?” you joked, wrapping your arms around her.

She laughed a little too loud and backed away.

That left Steve, who glanced at Robin with affection. He gave you a warm half-grin, yet his eyebrows slanted in apology. Like he had something to be sorry for. You shook your head and pulled him by the shoulder for a hug. He kept his touch light with hands on your upper back.

“Thank you, Steve.”

“I—uh… You’re welcome.”

You kissed his cheek before stepping back. His dark eyes were wide, lips parted.

To lighten the mood, you said, “This doesn’t mean you can hit on my mom again.”

He laughed, ducking his head and crossing his arms.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

You gave them a last nod and turned to your parents. Mom waited by the first row of parked cars. Your father had already crossed to the next. With a frown, you went to Mom.

She held out her hand and said, “Keys, please.”

“I’d like to stay.”

“I don’t think so.” She flattened her palm, silently demanding your keys. “You need rest.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but thought better of it. It was late. You were beyond tired, but unsure you could sleep. However, the hospital staff wouldn’t allow you to see Eddie unless you identified him. Even then, you weren’t family. Max was in surgery by now, too. There was nothing you could do.

You said, “I can drive.”

“Not with that eye-patch.”

With a sigh, you pulled your keys from your front pocket and handed them over. Mom asked where you’d parked your car. Without a word, you led the way. Neither of you mentioned the shoddy parking job.

When Mom started the car, you turned off the stereo. A conversation was fast approaching. She was quiet until she drove away from the hospital’s campus.

“So, want to tell me what really happened?” she asked.

You didn’t, of course. What really happened was too complicated, too scary, and too revealing.

She continued, “You’ve never mentioned any of those kids before.”

You stared out the passenger window. Half the town was dark. Most of the streetlights weren’t working. Every few blocks, the orange glow from a fissure broke the suburban night.

“I met them today,” you said, gripping your heavy purse.

“While being a big hero?”

“Something like that.”

“And the guy from the video store? He a big hero, too?”

You nodded.

“Yeah.”

Steve had helped pull Eddie from the Upside Down and tried to stabilize him. He took care of Dustin. He was a good person — and a hero.

“Wait,” you said. “That’s what you focus on? The guy from the video store?”

“Well, I mean, I couldn’t help but notice him.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

After a beat, she asked, “Is he single?”

“Mom!”

“Not for me!”

You had to turn your head even more to look at her.

“You want me to date Steve?”

She made a ‘why not?’ face with a shrug of a shoulder.

“He watched you walk away.”

“Oh my God, I’m sure they all did!”

“Not the way he did.”

You sighed and touched the eye patch, smoothing the tape holding it in place. Steve did not want you. You were so not his type. He wasn’t yours, either. And anyway, you were with Eddie, which Mom didn’t know. Now was not the time to disabuse her of your relationship status, either.

Fuck… Eddie was hurt. He’d been hurt by the demobats. Your demobats. No one could guarantee he would pull through. If he did— No. When he did, you’d have to tell him about the bats claiming you. That is, if you had the guts to. Would he ever forgive you?

The tires hit a bump in the road. A heavy thump and skid came from the driver’s footwell. Your eye went wide. Jason’s gun. You forgot you’d stashed it under the driver’s seat after parking.

“What the hell?” Mom asked, looking into the murk below the dash.

“I’ll get it.”

You dropped your purse by your feet, undid your seatbelt, and bent over the middle console, careful not to disturb the shifter. Mom slowed the car while tucking her knees to the side. Unfortunately, the huge gun skittered towards the door as the road followed the snaking Eno River. Light caught on its shiny nickel surface.

“Is that a gun?!”

For a second, you considered lying.

“Yeah?”

You snatched the gun before it skittered again and settled in your seat.

“What the hell are you doing with it?” Mom glanced at your hands. “That’s not your father’s. Whose gun is that?”

“You gotta promise not to freak out,” you said, fastening your seatbelt and unlatching the gun’s cylinder.

An ambulance siren wailed from somewhere close.

“Just tell me the truth, and we’ll figure out what to do.”

You couldn’t tell her the whole truth, but you could give her an edited version.

“I was out before the earth opened up—”

“We’ll talk about you staying out after curfew later, but go on.”

There were four bullets left in the cylinder. You tapped them into your palm as the interior lit red and white from the ambulance.

Over the siren, you said, “I was with friends, but we weren’t doing anything bad, okay?”

Mom pulled the car over. The ambulance screamed by. She held out her hand.

“Gun. Now,” she said. The lights flashed over her hardened face. “Bullets in the ashtray.”

You hated that tone in her voice. It made you feel like a stranger. You didn’t meet her gaze as you placed the gun in her hand. The bullets stuck to your sweaty palm as you poured them into the ashtray.

She took a deep breath, gun laying in her lap, and turned onto the road.

“I’m not mad at you.” She sighed. “Well, yes, I am, but… You scared the shit out of me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. It’s just that I don’t want you in an ambulance. I…” She looked at you, forehead creased with worry. “I don’t want you out there—” She leaned the heel of her hand on the steering wheel as she gestured. “Here you are with a stranger’s gun and beat up.” She shook her head. “Who did that to you?”

“That’s Jason Carver’s gun.”

“How did he get something like this?!”

“I-I don’t know.”

“Why do you have it?”

“Jason threatened me with it. He thought I was protecting Eddie Munson—”

“The one people think’s a Satanist?”

“Yeah.”

“Why would he think that?”

“Because of the way I dress? Because I’m new? And weird? I don’t know, pick one.”

“You’re different, but that’s okay. I like that you’re different.”

Somehow, that made you want to cry. You knew Mom loved you, but there were times you doubted she liked you.

“Thanks.”

She turned the car into Loch Nora proper. It wouldn’t be long before you were home. There, you could shower and eat and research healing spells. In the morning, you could make another Veil of Undeath.

Mom said, “You know, Jason threatening you with this gun doesn’t actually explain how it was in your car.”

“We fought, and he dropped it.”

“And you put it in your car?”

“I mean, yeah? I didn’t want to bring it into the hospital.”

“Alright.” She sighed. “I won’t tell your father about this—” She nudged the gun. “—but he will hear about Jason Carver.”

You leaned your head on the headrest with a muted sigh. You couldn’t wait for that conversation.

Some great commotion jolted you awake. It wasn’t noise or sudden light, for your bedroom lights remained bright. Your spell books surrounded you on the bed. The house was quiet. A tightness constricted your body. It bit into your skin like thorny ropes of glass. It tied you to darkness and tumultuous silence. Then whispers teased your ears. Hands stole into empty pockets. Scalpels sliced away ruined flesh.

No longer could you tell where others began and you ended.

You attempted to move, to crawl away, to hide. There was no hiding from this. You had to accept it. You were connected, each piercing thorn linked to another and another. Each crystalline connection fanned to others to make a gossamer, glittering net.

You tapped on the net. The wave went out and resonated back, like a sea of gems. You spread across the net, let it cradle you. Connections broke and were remade every second. Connections fanned from you.

You followed each until you fell into an abrupt terminus. There should’ve been something there, yet it was vacant. You grasped for anything to stop the plummet. The gloom bound you. The net and its shining connections disappeared.

A sonorous voice rumbled your name, familiar and dreadful.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #stranger things #em tagd #waywardrose writes

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help-im-a-gay-fish · 3 years

Text

The Night of the storm.

X-orcist au. Dreams, Demons and Desires.

Synopsis: pre X-orcist, where the story starts. The worst night of Dreams life, and the last night of Nightmare's. Angst piece. Make sure to check the tags for potentially triggering topics.

It hadn't been an intentional kiss. Not planned. Not anticipated.

All those years Nightmare had dreamed of doing it, the nights he'd stayed up hugging his pillow. The times he'd let his mind wonder to the sound of Dreams voice. Every dream he'd had where he'd wake up shaking and warm afterwards. It was a longing that had pulsed in his soul for years, which stretched far beyond the brotherly love.

He should feel disgusted in himself right? It was his own dust and bone, something untouchable to him. But in this moment he couldn't have cared in the slightest.

He wasn't fully sure what had happened to lead him to kiss Dream, all he knew was that they were. It should have felt so wrong, but instead it was a feeling of warmth that he'd never experienced before. He loved it.

Nightmare made sure to take in every sensation as it happened. Dream tasted sweet, just as he'd always imagined. Something warm and honey-like.

"mmmhfff"

He could hear the sound of their kiss and the ruffle of their clothes as they pressed together.

Their head pieces clinched as Nightmare moved closer again. There was a lot of heat spreading through his non-existent veins and a deep craving for more that he needed to satisfy. At that moment he felt Dreams hands rest on his chest, gripping his coat. He paid no mind until he felt Dream apply pressure.

Violently and suddenly, Dream shoved his brother away parting them.

Nightmare stubbled back, feeling upset at loosing his grip. But when he turned his gaze back to dream, the disappointment faded..... Replaced only with a twisting, ill feeling.

Dream’s chest was pounding with each breath, as his whole body shook. Night felt his soul sink when he looked at Dream's expression. The shock in his eyes was shifting into that of disgust and horror.

With a low clap, Dream slapped his hand over his mouth as if he was about to be sick. In fact it looks like he might just be.

"what.... WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

The words rammed around Nightmare's head and made his soul clench. He released in that moment what he'd done. Now he felts like he was going to be sick.

A sudden flush of every lewd thought he'd had for Dream in the past, pops into his mind. Even worse he remembers every time he'd had to excuse himself to relieve them. Each new memory greets him with a sick feeling.

"why would you... How could you!?"

His brothers voice sounded like white noise and was just barely in focus. His head swarmed with a million excuses, trying to justify or cover up his actions. But nothing could ever be convincing enough. Voices screamed in his head for him to lie, to say it was a mistake or an accident. But he couldn't.

His silence caused Dream to start crying. The slightly younger twin felt so confused and violated. His emotions tossed wildly inside him like snakes. How was he supposed to feel in this moment?! His brother kissed him!.

"ANSWER ME!"

He near screamed in desperation. A cry for this to all be a joke or a miss understanding. But instead his brothers next words practically broke him.

"I love you Dream"

The tears streamed down Dreams face, as his body continued to tremble. Every part of Nightmare wanted him to wipe away those tears. To hold him close like he always had. To make it ok. But how could he when he'd caused them?

"Dream I can't help it..... Everything about you... Its like you were made for me"

There was a feeling like a dam braking and his confession poured out of him. He told him everything. How long he'd felt this way, how he'd tried to stop but he couldn't. How every day he felt like he fell in love with him all over again and how no one else had ever made him feel the same.

Though all this Dream stayed quiet and listened. His tears fell silently down his cheeks and soaked into the top of his scarf.

"who cares what others say..... All we've ever needed is each other"

There was a glassy look in his brothers eyes, as he continued to cry, and it was unbearable to see.

Nightmare reached his hand forward "Please don't cry Dream Its ok it-

Slap

It was a sharp pain as Dream slapped his hand away, hard.

"don't you dare touch me! "

Dream tried to sound threatening, but it was impossible as his voice broke. He backed away from Nightmare, as if fearful, until his back hit the wall.

"You c-can't ever touch m-m-me ever again.... y-you're sick!"

That made Nightmare angry. How was he sick? He wasn't in control of his feelings. It wasn't his fault that Dream made him feel this way. The bright, happy-go-lucky brother had done this to him. It was his twins fault so what right did Dream have to call him sick?!

If Dream really wanted to see something sick...

He could ram him against that wall, kiss him until he was breathless and touch him everywhere. What a joy it would be to have Dream shake beneath him, Nightmare knew he'd have Dream clawing at his back by the end of it. He'd fantasied of it many times and in that moment he had every desire to take what he wanted.

But as he looked again at Dream's tear stained face, he knew he couldn't. He could never do that. It frightened him that he'd considered such a thing for even a moment. Maybe Dream was right..... he was sick.

He took a step back.

"Dream.... I"

But his brother shock his head.

Dream could feel burning shame on his face. It was a boiling hot feeling spreading through him quickly. It felt like he was on fire and he couldn't fully understand what he was feeling. All he knew what that his brother caused it and he wanted to get as far away from Nightmare as he could.

"You're a sinner! It's disgusting..... I... I...d-don't want to s-s-see you ever again"

Each of Dreams words dripped poison, it sent pain through Nightmare, hitting him over and over. It was like something was piecing him, smashing each of his bones and crawling at his insides. Having Dream reject him was something he'd tried over the years to emotionally prepare for.

But..... to have his brother look at him this way. That way. The same way many others did, with fear, disgust or perhaps even hatrid.....

He needed to run.

He didn't hesitate for another moment, not wanting to look at what he'd done for a second longer. So he ran. Ran past Dream, who had sunken into a crying mess on the floor, and out of the door.

It was raining outside and the wind swept the droplets into his face, stinging it. Yet the cold did nothing to sooth the burning heat running through him. Shame, sadness, lust, self loathing and heart break beat him in rhythm with the rain as he continued to run.

Where was he running to? He didn't know. Did he really even have anywhere to go?

It was a thick downpour of rain and he could hardly see through it. He didn't even really know what direction he was going.

But it didn't matter, as the world around him was just a blur at this point. Nothing mattered to him any more. He'd crossed a line he never should have even gotten near and the consequences were torture.

All he could hear was the sound of his feet slapping the wet ground and felt his soul twisting and wrenching as if it were battered by the wind. He turned in a new direction and kept running.

He stopped and caught his breath, doubling over slightly. He tried to collect his thoughts and quiet his hammering chest. But froze as he saw a blinding light and heard the sound of screeching tires.

******

It was the sound of police sirens which eventually drew Dream to get off of the floor. He was still trembling, as the memory of his brothers actions was still extremely fresh. So fresh that he could still taste him on his tongue. But he stood up none the less.

Dreams throat was burning from sobbing so much, and it stung as his swallowed the saliva in his mouth.

The sirens continued, and prompted a slight curiosity from Dream. Shakily, he made his way across the room and to the front door. It was still open from when Nightmare had left. He made sure to close it when he stepped outside.

It was still raining, it had been raining all night. Storms had always used to scare Dream as a kid, but Nightmare had helped him get over that phobia. Making a game out of it, hidden in pillow forts. Something safe, cosy and warm.

Tonight it felt slightly scary again.

Wiping the rain water from his face, he looked up the road to the source of the noise. There was an array of cars and people, stood in a circle around something. It was a small town they lived in, so this kind of thing was rare to see.

With his soul still hammering, he started to approach the scene.

As he got a closer look his soul completely stopped. A boiling hot feeling rain through him, followed by a deep coldness. Like being plunged in icy water.

"no...."

unconsciously His pace quickened.

"no... No"

As the scene came fully into view, he broke into a run.

"no no please NO!"

This wasn't happening. This couldn't happen. He couldn’t be seeing this.

Before he could fully reach his target a pare of arms grabbed him and pulled him back.

"Sir you're going to need to stay back"

"NO" He screamed, fighting against the police officer's grip.

"NIGHTMARE! NO! PLEASE NO"

He continued to struggle, desperately trying to reach his twin, who lay still and lifeless on the tarmac.

"YOU PROMISED YOU'D NEVER LEAVE ME!" he said, yelling as his voice turned horse "PLEASE!" he sobbed "I love you p-please..."

He stopped struggling, completely defeated "P-please.... D-don't go".

As the police officer's grip lessoned, Dream dropped to his knees, unable to stand for another second. He had no strength. All he could do is sob as the world came crashing down around him.

Nightmare still lay motionless, his blood spreading under him like wine on a white carpet, mixing with the rain, making red swirl in all directions.

There was no hope in Dream that he was just unconscious. As much as he desperately wanted it to be true, he wasn't naïve enough to really believe it.

He was dead.

Dream pushed himself up slightly, pathetically dragging himself across wet floor in Nightmare's direction. This time the officer didn't stop him, most likely out of sympathy. But Dream didn't care.

Dreams strength failed him again once he was close enough to see his brothers face. Still, cold and bloody, it truly broke him. He fell down onto the road again. There he lay, a couple inches away.

"I..."

He said, summoning all his strength to reach his heavy arm forward to grasp Nightmare's pendant, which lay just within reach.

"I'm.. so sorry" he whispered, as his fingers closed around the metal star trinket.

Weakly, he put his head down on the road and closed his eyes. Feeling numbness overtake his body and rendering him still. The ran poured. The people around him bustled. But he could hardly hear it.

He was alone.

**********

Original nightmare and dream belong to jokublog

X-orcist au by me and @zu-is-here. Based off of the artwork by @zu-is-here

Dreams, Demons and Desires version of the au belongs to me.

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